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HE 


RY  OF 


Sl'.ELEY  RESETTER 


jm 


t_    Nev  Yi    • : 

i  ^l:vd  co 

»B  wiliiam:  street. 

n.  News  Co.,  119  &  121  Nassau  St., 


.'ANT, 


m 


•  THE 


IGURE  EIGHT 


OB, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MEREDITH  PLACE. 


BY  SEELEY  REGESTER, 

AUTHOR   OE   "THE   DEAD  LETTER." 


NEW  YORK:  fi 
BEADLE  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 
98   William  Street. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord,  1869,  by 
SEELEY  EEGESTEK, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


CHAPTER  I. 


ADOW  LIFE. 


I  had  figure  eight  on  the  brain.  I  dreamed 
it,  whispered  it,  saw  it  on  the  wall,  on  people's 
foreheads,  counted  it  with  the  plates  at  table, 
with  the  stones  of  the  pavement,  the  clouds  in 
the  air !  ^ 

Three  weeks  before,  my  uncle  had  been  found 
dead  in  his  library,  fallen  on  the  floor  beside 
bis  table,  a  pen  grasped  in  his  stiffened  fingers. 
It  was  apparent  that  he  had  died  very  sudden- 
ly, it  was  supposed,  at  first,  from  apoplexy,  but, 
as  it  was  soon  ascertained,  poisoned  with  prus- 
sic  acid,  whether  purposely  or  accidentally,  by 
himself,  or  whether  by  the  murderous  will  of 
another,  still  was  an  open  question. 

He.  had  complained,  in  the  morning,  at  table, 
of  a  slight  headache,  nothing  serious, — or  at 
least  we  had  supposed  not, — and  later,  after 
walking  about  in  the  garden  in  hopes  the  fresh 
air  would  dispel  his  slight  ailment,  he  had  gone 
to  his  library,  as  was  his  practice,  for  a  couple 
of  hours  in  the  forenoon.  No  member  of  the 
household  knew  of  any  one's  having  entered 
the  room  save  himself,  as  it  was  the  custom  not 
to  intrude  upon  him  while  in  his  library.  Be- 
side him,  on  the  table,  was  a  small  salver, 
holding  a  wine-glass  which  had  been  nearly 
emptied  of  its  contents, — port,  and  in  the  port, 
that  deadly  potion  which  had  done  its  work 
with  such  fearful  swiftness.  It  might  have 
been  that  he,  being  his  own  physician,  had  pre- 
scribed for  himself,  and,  through  inadvertence 
— for  his  was  always  a  dreamy  temperament, 
and  his  absence  of  mind  a  standing  jest  with 
his  friends, — had  dropped  this  horrible  poison 
in  place  of  the  sulphuric-acid  which  stood  not 
far  from  it  upon  the  medicine-shelf  in  his 
laboratory.  However,  this,  and  all  other  versions 
of  the  affair,  at  present,  were  but  conjecture. 

As  soon  as  the  first  great  shock  of  surprise 
and  consternation  was  over,  and  his  dead  body 
had  been  borne  to  an  adjacent  room,  much  at- 
tention was  given  to  a  sheet  of  paper  discover- 
ed lying  upon  the  table.    A  scrawled,  illegible 


line  of  writing,  followed  by  a  tremulous,  irreg- 
ular figure  eight,  was  upon  its  face,  as  if  in  a 
hurried  moment  it  had  been*  seized  to  commu- 
nicate to  the  living  some  piece  of  intelligence 
which  the  dying  man  deemed  of  interest  or 
importance.    This  scrawl  was  as  follows  : 


evidently  traced  by  a  spasmodic  effort  of  the 
perishing  will,  even  while  the  man  was  fighting 
for  a  moment  of  life.  He  had  sunk  and  died 
with  the  pen  in  his  hand,  and  this  was  all  the 
record  he  had  made.  My  uncle  had  just  re- 
turned from  California  with  sixty  thousand 
dollars  in  gold— gold  which  had  not,  as  yet, 
even  passed  through  the  mint,  but  which  lay 
in  dull  bars  of  yellow  richness,  just  as  it  had 
been  melted  by  himself  in  a  rude  crucible,  week 
by  week  and  month  by  month  of  his  two  years 
sojourn  in  the  newly  discovered  El  Dorado. 
He  had,  in  the  very  pride  of  his  conquest  over 
the  ill  fortune  which  had  banished  him  from 
home,  friends,  and  his  dear  studies,  opened  the 


6 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


iron-bound  box  and  showed  it  to  Lillian  and 
myself  the  day  after  his  welcome  home.  How 
Lillian  had  clasped  her  hands  for  joy !  I, 
who  read  her  sweet  nature  so  truly,  knew  well 
enough  that  joy  arose  from  no  rapacious  love  of 
money,  for  its  own  sake,  but  from  the  con- 
sciousness that  there  lay  the  hardly -won  trea- 
sure which  was  to  free  her  dear  father  from  the 
wretched  embarrassments  and  anxieties  which, 
for  years,  had  rendered  him  miserable. 

Sixty  thousand  dollars  then  was  a  goodly  for- 
tune, and  Lillian  felt  that  her  father  was  re- 
stored to  her,  in  his  old  self,  as  she  flung  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  mutely  congratulating 
him  with  a  kiss.  Yes,  when  the  ten  thousand 
dollar  mortgage  against  the  old  homestead 
was  paid  off,  and  sundry  other  obligations  dis- 
charged, there  still  would  be  a  handsome  sum 
remaining  for  the  use  of  parent  and  child.  And, 
dearest  thought  of  all,  her  father  now  could  re- 
sign the  distasteful  hardships  of  a  country  med- 
ical practice,  and  devote  himself  to  the  more 
congenial  pursuits  of  finishing  a  partially-writ- 
ten treatise  on  the  Nerves,  and  continue  his 
experiments  in  chemistry,  which  had  promised 
so  fruitful  of  interesting  results,  but  from  which 
he  had  been  driven  by  his  necessities. 

But  Dr.  Meredith  was  dead  —  dead  and 
buried  !  The  whole  country-side  had  attended 
his  funeral,  moved  by  curiosity  and  that  love  of 
excitement  which  all  the  circumstances  of  this 
singular  case  were  so  well  calculated  to  arouse. 

Why  had  he  died  ?  and  why,  in  dying,  had  he 
inscribed  that  single  character  to  mystify,  per- 
plex and  haunt  ?  Hundreds  had  asked  them- 
selves and  others  the  question, — but  no  one 
with  such  terrible  earnestness  as  I  had  asked  it 
of  myself,  every  day  more  searchingly.  Hour 
by  hour,  minute  by  minute,  through  the 
solemn  days,  and  through  much  of  the  night 
time  when  sleep  refused  to  visit  my  heavy  eyes, 
I  pondered  over  the  mystery.  That  there  was 
a  deep  and  most  vital  significance  in  the  char- 
acters traced  I  only  too  well  knew.  Not  a  pen- 
scratch  of  will  or  devise  was  found  among  his 
papers — not  a  line  to  indicate  his  wishes  and 
purposes — not  a  shadow  of  information  to  tell 
us  where  was  deposited  the  precious  treasure 
which  was  to  free  the  dear  old  home  from  the 
Sheriffs  order  of  sale.  Every  drawer  had  been 
ransacked,  every  secret  place  of  deposit  search- 
ed, but  not  a  trace  of  the  hardly  won  gold— 
not  a  hint  of  its  existence. 

Had  he  hidden  it  away,  distrusting  all  men, 
in  some  unsuspected  burial-place  ?  or — the  very 
thought  maddened  me — had  some  one  wrested 
the  money  from  him^  and  he,  in  his  despair — 
taken  poison  to  end  his  misery  over  the  ruin 
which  must  follow  ? 


Eight — eight — eight!  That  was  his  last  pre- 
cious communication,  written  with  death  tug- 
ging at  his  heart-strings  :  what  did  it  mean  ? 

Three  weeks  flew  by — weeks  of  unanswered 
inquiry — of  the  deepest  sorrow  to  the  house- 
hold— of  distress  over  the  evil  to  come.  So 
abstracted  in  my  thoughts  and  oppressed  with 
them  had  I  been  that  I  had  failed  to  discover 
the  danger  in  which  I  was  placed.  These  three 
weeks  had  brought  a  great  change  in  the  de- 
meanor of  the  community  toward  me.  I  awak- 
ened from  my  abstraction  to  read  suspicion  in 
eyes  which  were  once  kind — to  feel  that,  in 
all  Hampton,  there  were  not  a  dozen  persons 
who  did  not  regard  me  as  my  uncle's  murderer  ! 

To-night  I  was  sitting  in  my  room,  as  I  be- 
lieved, for  the  last  time.  That  day  I  was  in- 
formed by  an  anonymous  note — whether  from 
friend  or  enemy  I  could  not  tell — that  the 
popular  feeling  against  me  would  culminate,  on 
the  morrow,  in  my  arrest,  and  I  was  advised 
to  fly.  It  must  have  been  the  advice  of  an 
enemy,  yet  I  was  about  to  take  it.  I  knew  such 
a  step  would  be  ruinous  to  myself ;  that  it  would 
be  like  announcing  myself  to  be  the  guilty 
man  ;  and,  in  case  of  my  being  followed  and 
discovered,  that  it  would  hasten  my  condemna- 
tion. Yet  I  had  reason  for  this  course  so  pow- 
erful as  to  decide  me  in  its  favor. 

It  was  midnight.  At  two  o'clock  the  night 
express  would  pause  a  moment  at  Hampton  on 
its  flying  journey  to  New  York  ;  I  proposed  to 
take  it,  in  such  disguise  that  the  sleepy  station- 
master  should  not  recognize  me,  and  before 
this  country  neighborhood  began  to  buzz  and 
stir  in  anticipation  of  the  event  of  the  day,  I 
should  be  lost  in  a  city  wilderness,  hiding  my- 
self in  a  crowd,  safe  for  an  hour  or  a  day — after 
that  all  was  vague. 

On  my  table  lay  a  letter  which  I  had  written 
to  Lillian  :  "  Think  of  me  as  you  will,  cousin 
Lillian.  I  swear  to  you,  by  the  memory  of 
your  dead  mother,  that  I  am  innocent.  It  is 
solely  in  your  interest  that  I  take  the  step  I  do. 
I  leave  you  what  little  money  I  have — three 
hundred  dollars.  Your  father  gave  it  to  me, 
as  you  know,  to  enable  me  to  attend  a  course 
of  lectures.  It  is  yours  by  right.  Be  very  sav- 
ing of  it,  for  you  do  not  yet  realize  what  it  is 
to  be  both  penniless  and  friendless.  The  know- 
ledge, I  fear,  will  come  to  you  too  soon,  in 
spite  of  my  efforts  to  save  you  from  it.  God 
give  you  strength  to  face  the  future  and  me 
strength  to  work  out  the  dread  secret  of  my 
uncle's  death."  The  clock  in  the  lower  hall 
struck  twelve  : — no,  it  did  not,  but  should 
have  struck  twelve.  Its  silver  peal  rang  like 
an  alarum  through  the  intense  stillness,  and 
seemed  such  to  my  strained,  excited  ear.  I 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


was  not  aware  that  I  was  counting  the  chimes, 
but  when  a  dull  silence  ensued  after  the  ham- 
mer had  tolled  eight  strokes,  my  pulse  stopped 
as  suddenly  as  the  clock. 

Eight  ?  yes,  as  the  silence  closed  I  was  con- 
scious that  I  had  been  counting.  It  struck 
eight  and  no  more  ! 

Mind  and  nerves  being  already  overstrained, 
this  coincidence  gave  a  new  impetus  to  my 
fears,  or  terror,  or  dread— whatever  may  have 
been  the  feeling.  Only  eight!  I  thought  I 
should  suffocate,  my  heart  stood  still  for  such 
a  time.  I  rushed  to  the  window  for  air.  It 
was  now  the  first  of  July, — a  hot,  breathless 
night,  although  the  moon  rode  high  in  the 
heavens,  shedding  a  glory  only  less  than  that 
of  day. 

The  absolute  serenity  of  the  moon-flooded 
heaven  calmed  me.  I  began  to  say  to  myself — 
"  The  clock  has  run  down.  In  the  excitement  of 
this  dreadful  time  it  has  been  neglected.  There 
is  nothing  about  that  which  can  not  be  easily 
accounted  for.    I  will  go  down  and  wind  it  up." 

It  was  an  eight-day  clock.  My  uncle  always 
had  attended  to  it  himself.  Since  his  death  it 
had  been  wound  but  once  ;  a  servant,  observing 
that  it  had  run  down,  had  attended  to  it.  Of 
course  it  was  only  by  the  merest  chance  that, 
again  neglected,  it  had  lost  the  power  to  con- 
clude its  chime,  and  had  ceased  after  eight  slow 
strokes. 

When  one's  mind  is  in  a  state  of  preternatu- 
ral or  diseased  activity,  it  will  seize  upon  the 
slightest  thread  to  weave  into  the  web  with 
which  it  busies  itself.  I  was  obliged  to  repeat 
several  times — "  It  is  only  because  the  clock  has 
run  down — I  will  go  and  wind  it  up,"  before  I 
could  summon  courage  to  cross  my  room,  open 
my  door,  and  step  into  the  dimly-lighted  upper 
hall. 

I  am  sure  that  I  expected  to  confront  my 
uncle  as  I  opened  the  door.  I  can  hardly  say 
whether  I  most  hoped  or  feared  to  do  so.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that,  had  he  been  standing  there,  in 
whatever  supernatural  guise,  I  should  have 
saluted  him  with  the  one  eager  question  which 
was  burning  in  my  brain — should  have  asked  him 
for  the  key  to  the  cipher  he  had  left. 

No  spirit  met  me,  nor  mortal,  as  I  trod  the 
glimmering  length  of  the  shadow-haunted  pas- 
sage, and  descended  the  broad  stairs  with  a 
step  as  silent  as  if  I  had  been  one  of  the  ghosts 
which  I  half-expected  would  rise  to  confront 
me.  The  lower  hall  was  much  better  lighted 
than  the  upper.  The  wide  doors  at  either  end 
were  half  of  glass,  and  the  tall  form  of  the  old- 
fashioned  time-piece  stood  fully  revealed  in  the 
illumination  from  without.  A  bright  rift  of 
moonlight  lay  across  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 


as  it  struck  through  the  parlor  door,  across  the 
well-worn  carpet.  I  had  missed  the  ticking 
of  the  pendulum  as  soon  as  I  opened  my  door, 
and  was  thus  assured  that  my  conjecture  was 
correct — the  clock  had  run  down. 

I  could  not  reach  to  wind  the  piece  without 
standing  upon  a  chair,  but  as  none  was  at  hand 
I  stepped  into  the  parlor  for  one.  with  which  I 
was  returning,  when  a  slight  clicking  sound 
arrested  me  and  I  drew  back  into  the  shadow 
|  of  the  door. 

From  where  I  stood  I  could  see,  without 
i  being  seen.  A  woman  came  out  of  the  library 
— that  apartment  so  gloomily  invested  with 
the  late  tragedy — a  woman  whose  tall  figure  I 
:  recognized  even  before  the  rift  of  moonlight 
fell  across  the  pale,  powerful  face,  with  its 
I  flashing  eyes  and  heavy  brow.  It  was  Miss 
j  Miller.  Lillian's  governess.  She  was  dressed  in 
:  a  long  white  night-robe;  and  her  black  hair 
hung  over  her  shoulders,  as  if  she  had  been  in 
bed  and  had  risen  therefrom.  As  she  paiLsed  to 
cautiously  re-close  the  door,  her  face  lit  up 
with  a  smile,  and  she  muttered,  half-whisper- 
ing, half-aloud — "  I  have  the  key  for  which 
they  would  give  so  much." 

Then  she  seemed  to  float  up  the  long  stair- 
way, she  went  so  noiselessly  and  softly,  disap- 
pearing in  the  upper  shadows.  To  me  she  had 
the  appearance  of  a  sleep-walker,  yet  I  believed 
her  to  be  awake  and  in  her  right  mind. 

Eemembering  many  things  which  I  knew  too 
well,  I  can  not  say  that  I  was  so  much  astonish- 
ed as  startled  at  seeing  her  steal  out  of  that 
room  in  the  dead  hour  of  the  night.  A  thou- 
sand surmises  stung  me  as  with  so  many  nee- 
dles; but  most  I  longed  to  know  the  secret  of 
that  softly  breathed  assertion.  Did  she  speak 
of  the  figure  eight  and  its  unread  riddle  ?  or 
did  she  refer  to  some  material  key,  necessary 
to  unlock  some  drawer  or  case  in  my  uncle's 
library,  of  some  importance,  perhaps,  but  insig- 
nificant, after  all,  as  compared  with  the  infer- 
ence? 

I  was  tempted  to  rush  after  her  and  seize  her 
by  the  hair  or  the  throat  and  demand  an  ex- 
planation of  her  self-revealed  words.  She  and 
I  were  not  good  friends.  It  doubtless  was  she 
who  first  breathed  the  suspicion  which  had 
gathered  strength  as  it  spread,  until  now  it 
was  driving  me  from  home  and  Lillian.  At 
least,  I  gave  Miss  Miller  credit  for  having  done 
me  this  evil  service. 

I  was  tempted,  I  say,  to  rush  after  her  and 
wring  the  truth  from  her  by  violence;  but  a 
moment's  reflection  showed  me  the  hour  had 
not  yet  come  for  me  to  strike — would  never 
come,  except  by  great  patience  and  cunning — 
perhaps  great  suffering — on  my  part.    I  must 


8 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


carry  out  my  plan  of  flight  in  order  to  gain 
liberty  wherein  to  work.  In  a  prison  I  could 
do  nothing.  It  was  not  so  much  dread  of  con- 
finement or  ignominious  death  as  it  was  the 
desire  to  keep  myself  free  to  work,  which  im- 
pelled me  to  flight.  I  already  had  tasted  the 
bitterness  of  a  scorned  life  in  seeing  my  friends 
turn  from  me  ;  but  I  had  still  everything  to 
live  for  as  long  as  that  communication  of  my 
dying  benefactor  remained  an  enigma,  and  so 
long  as  my  dear  cousin — but  of  that  no  more 
here. 

In  a  few  moments  I  retraced  my  steps.  I 
did  not  wind  the  clock,  for  fear  that  another 
might  surprise  me,  as  I  had  her ;  but,  after 
waiting  until  she  had  time  to  regain  her  apart- 
ment, I  went  to  mine  and  hastily  finished  my 
few  preparations  for  departure.  With  a  work- 
ingman's  blouse  over  my  coat,  and  a  broad-brim- 
med straw  hat,  I  considered  myself  sufficiently 
disguised  for  the  journey.  If  the  station-mas- 
ter should  recognize  me,  he  had  no  power  to  de- 
tain me,  and  he  probably  would  give  no  alarm 
before  morning.  The  ride  to  the  city  would 
be  only  of  about  three  hours  duration  ;  and, 
once  merged  in  that  vast  sea  of  human  beings, 
I  hoped  to  avoid  recognition. 

In  those  days,  photography  slept  undevelop- 
ed, and  the  one  daguerreotype  of  my  features 
which  hitherto  had  graced  the  parlor  etigere  I 
had  that  day  confiscated  and  destroyed,  so  that 
the  police — who  doubtless  would  be  placed  on 
my  track — would  have  no  better  knowledge^ 
my  personal  appearance  than  could  be  gather- 
ed from  verbal  description. 

Long  before  one  o'clock  I  was  entirely  ready. 
It  would  take  me  but  fifteen  minutes  to  walk 
to  the  station  ;  yet  I  was  so  oppressed  by  the 
conflicting  emotions  which  crowded  upon  me, 
as  well  as  by  the  heat  of  that  sultry  but  bril- 
liant midnight,  that  I  could  no  longer  remain 
•n  my  room.  With  ihe  traveling  bag  which 
held  all  I  cared  to  take  with  me  from  Meredith 
Place,  I  again  descended  the  glimmering  stair- 
case, and,  staring  up  at  the  silent  clock,  which 
seemed  to  have  paused  in  its  ceaseless  duty  to 
mark  the  hour  of  my  flight,  passing  the  closed 
!ibrary-door  with  a  shudder,  I  softly  unfasten- 
ed the  rear  door  of  the  hall  and  stepped  out 
into  the  garden.'  Tiger  lay  on  the  steps,  but 
allowed  me  to  pass,  wagging  his  tail  just 
enough  to  betray  his  friendliness  and  his  sleep- 
iness. Brave  old  fellow  ;  he  was  not  wise 
enough  to  understand  what  the  world  was 
saying  of  me,  and  he  loved  me  still. 

I  did  not  at  once  go  out  upon  the  road.  I 
had  an  hour  to  spare,  and  "  something  in  my 
feet"  drew  me  on  to  the  arbor  at  the  end  of  the 
large  old-fashioned  garden.   It  was  my  cousin's 


favorite  resort  in  the  long  summer  afternoons  ; 
and,  too,  as  I  sat  there,  I  could  see  the  muslin 
curtain  faintly  fluttering  over  her  chamber- 
window.  The  arbor  was  draped  with  roses  now 
in  their  fullest  bloom  ;  the  warmth  of  the  night 
called  out  their  richest  perfume,  and  they  ap- 
peared to  throb  in  the  lustrous  radiance  which 
surrounded  them  as  my  heart  throbbed  in 
thinking  of  Lillian. 

But  this  was  no  moment  for  a  young  man's 
fancies  to  bloom.  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  flush  and  sweetness  of  life — alas,  nothing  ! 
All  was  stem  and  hard — an  awful  reality  ol 
sorrow  and  danger.  My  reputation  gone,  my 
life  in  peril — it  was  not  of  this  I  so  bitterly  pon- 
dered ;  I  resolved  to  work,  to  wait,  to  scheme, 
to  watch,  never  to  let  go  my  hold  on  the  slen- 
der thread  of  one  small  fact  until  I  had  wor- 
ried and  shaken  the  truth  from  it.  I  had  a 
clue — a  spider's  thread,  indeed,  but  still  a  clue, 
to  the  mystery  of  my  uncle's  sudden  death; 
though  none  whatever  to  the  meaning  of  the 
figure  eight.  If  I  lived,  both  of  these  should  be 
made  plain  as  day  ;  my  cousin's  fortune  should 
be  restored  to  her,  and  I  exonerated  in  the 
minds  of  our  acquaintances. 

I  had  sat  in  the  shadowed  arbor  about  ten 
minutes  when  I  heard  Tiger  give  a  low  growl ; 
but  he  did  not  repeat  it,  and  I  had  almost  for- 
gotten it,  when  I  saw  descending  the  broad 
garden  path,  now  in  light,  now  in  shade,  as 
she  moved  beneath  the  mountain-ashes  which 
lined  the  way,  the  same  woman  who  had  ap- 
peared in  the  hall,  her  tall  form  towering  to  a 
supernatural  height  as  she  came  down  the  vis- 
ta with  her  white  night-dress  trailing  behind 
her  and  her  hair  sweeping  beneath  her  waist  in 
dark  masses.  Not  that  she  was  really  much 
above  the  average  height,  but  her  dress,  her 
gliding  step,  and  the  flickering  light,  made 
her  appear  so.  My  first  impulse  was  to  rise  as 
I  saw  that  she  approached  my  retreat ;  but  I 
could  not  escape  her  observation  should  I  now 
attempt  to  leave  it,  and  with  a  muttered  word 
of  wrath  at  this  (to  me)  dangerous  and  unpleas- 
ant rencontre  I  awaited  her. 

Presently  she  stood  in  the  open  arch  which 
admitted  to  the  arbor.  I  shrank  back  in  the 
shadow  of  the  vines  as  much  as  possible,  but 
the  full  splendor  of  the  moon  streamed  down 
upon  her,  so  that  I  saw  her  with  every  fold  of 
her  garments  and  line  of  her  features  vividly 
marked  in  the  pale  light.  She  seemed  to  be 
looking  directly  at  me  with  wide-open  glitter- 
ing eyes,  but  I  was  soon  convinced  that  she 
did  not  see  me.  Her  gaze  was  more  as  if  she 
looked  through  and  beyond  me.  I  saw  that 
she  was  walking  in  her  sleep.  \  Was  it  her  con- 
science, like  that  of  Lady  Macbeth,  which 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


9 


brought  her  out  of  what  should  be  repose,  to 
walk  abroad  with  those  staring  eyes  and  fea- 
tures set  in  a  strange  mould  of  blank  gloom 
and  horror  ?  I  judged  her  harshly  as  she  had 
already  judged  me. 

Now,  indeed,  I  held  my  breath  with  an  in- 
tensity of  interest,  for  it  was  not  impossible 
that  this  somnambulistic  person  was  about 
unconsciously  to  place  in  my  very  hand  the 
wished  for  thread. 

For  a  time  which  seemed  to  me  long,  but 
which  could  not  have  been  more  than  one  or 
two  minutes,  she  stood  at  the  entrance,  her  eyes 
looking  straight  before  her,  seemingly  at  me. 
Her  face  was  colorless,  her  brows  contracted, 
her  whole  look  almost  fearful.  Then  her  eyes 
began  to  wander  about  the  place,  uneasily,  but 
still  as  if  she  saw  things  which  were  not  there, 
instead  of  the  objects  before  her.  She  slowly 
raised  her  hand,  and  with  extended  fore-finger 
made  several  movements,  as  if  counting.  Then 
she  searched  the  floor  of  the  arbor  with-  her 
eyes,  and  again  moved  lips  and  fingers  as  if 
counting  the  stones  with  which  it  was  paved. 

My  blood  tingled  in  my  veins  as  I  saw  a 
change  come  over  her  countenance — a  gleam 
broke  through  its  stony  gloom.  There  grew  a 
change  in  what  at  first  seemed  the  meaningless 
movements  of  one  who  slept ;  I  watched,  with 
bated  breath,  as  she  advanced  within,  again 
seemed  to  count  with  fingers  and  lips,  and  sud- 
denly dropping  to  her  knees,  began  to  tug  at 
one  of  the  fiat,  square  stones,  which,  as  I  have 
said,  paved  the  arbor.  Of  course,  with  her  un- 
aided woman's  strength  she  could  not  remove 
it.  I  longed  to  go  down  beside  her  and  assist 
her.  I  recognized  an  object  in  her  efforts.  I 
could  hardly  refrain  from  thrusting  her  aside 
and  tearing  up  the  stone  in  the  fierceness  of 
my  own  curiosity.  The  thought  that  if  I  were 
mistaken  in  my  conjecture,  all  would  be  lost, 
should  I  awaken  the  governess  at  this  crisis, 
restrained  me.  Finding  she  could  not  lift  the 
stone  she  took  a  pair  of  scissors  from  a  ribbon 
about  her  neck  and  slowly  pried  out  the  earth 
and  mortar  about  it.  The  work  seemed  to  me 
endless.  Persistently,  but  with  annoying  de- 
liberation, she  worked  away  ;  I  almost  touched, 
her  where  she  knelt  before  me  ;  I  did  not  be- 
lieve that  she  would  succeed  in  loosening  the 
block  with  the  little  instrument  so  ridiculous- 
ly inadequate  to  the  task  she  had  attempted. 

Cautiously  I  drew  forth  my  watch — but  I 
need  not  have  feared  disturbing  her ;  she  re- 
mained unconscious  of  my  proximity  ;  it  was 
a  quarter  past  one.  She  worked  on  ;  it  was 
half  past  one.  At  two  I  must  be  at  the  station. 
When  my  impatience  had  reached  a  feverish 
height,  she  ran  the  tiny  lever  deep  down  be- 


side the  stone ;  the  steel  snapped  as  she  pried 
up  the  mass  ;  but  the  stone  moved,  and  gain- 
ing a  firmer  hold  with  her  fingers  she  pulled  it 
slowly  from  its  place  and  peered  into  the  cavi- 
ty thus  made.  I  also  stooped  and  peered.  If 
ever  in  my  life  I  expected  anything  it  was  to 
see  the  missing  box — the  box  containing  my  un- 
cle's gold — which  had  disappeared  before  or  at 
the  time  of  his  death.  My  head  almost  touched 
hers,  our  breaths  mingled,  I  gave  a  low  cry 
when  I  beheld  only  the  hardened,  undisturbed 
earth, — no  box,  nor  marks  of  recent  disturb- 
ance. The  governess  did  not  hear  my  cry ; 
she  plied  the  broken  scissors  into  the  ground 
with  fierce  impatience,  but  there  was  nothing 
there  save  the  soil  which  yielded  to  her  strokes. 

"That  boy  is  cunning,"  she  whispered,  "too 
cunning!  too  cunning!"  she  pulled  the  stone 
back,  fitted  it  to  its  place,  with  her  handker- 
chief brushed  away  the  loose  gravel  and  dirt, 
arose  to  her  feet,  and  looking  wistfully  and 
doubtfully  around  the  pavement,  muttered— 
"  I  must  count  again.    I  did  not  begin  right." 

That  instant  I  heard  the  whistle  of  the  ap- 
proaching train,  through  the  still  night  air,  at 
the  village  next  to  Hampton,  where  it  did  not 
stop,  and  I  knew  that  I  had  but  six  minutes 
to  use  in  gaining  the  station.  Was  she  going 
now,  or  would  she  carry  her  experiments  far- 
ther? Yes,  she  turned  to  leave,  and  as  she 
glided  out  into  the  moonlight,  I  darted  past 
her,  down  to  the  gate  at  the  bottom  of  the  gar- 
den, out  upon  the  road,  where,  running  as  fast 
as  my  traveling-bag  would  allow  me,  I  was 
just  in  time  to  gain  a  foothold  on  the  platform 
of  the  last  car,  probably  unnoticed  by  the 
station-master. 

CHAPTER  H. 

THE    HAUNTED  ARBOR. 

I  was  no  sooner  seated  in  the  flying  train 
than  all  my  plans  were  changed.  Before  the 
conductor  reached  me  I  had  foregone  my  reso- 
lution to  seek  a  hiding-place  in  the  city,  and 
contented  myself  with  purchasing  a  ticket  to 
the  first  stopping-place.  Eegarding  me  as 
some  country  youth,  seeking  employment  from 
village  to  village — if  he  thought  of  me  at  all — 
the  conductor  gave  me  my  ticket  and  change, 
and  I  had  half  an  hour  to  reflect  upon  what 
was  before  me  ere  the  train  again  paused. 
When  it  did,  I  descended,  it  whirled  on,  and  I 
was  left,  to  success  or  failure,  as  the  case 
might  be.  I  found  myself  on  the  edge  of  a 
large  town  with  which  I  was  somewhat  fami- 
liar ;  but  I  had  no  intention  of  going  to  a  ho- 
tel, or  otherwise  exposing  myself  to  those  who 
might  recognize  and  report  me.  I  walked  up 
on  to  the  main  street,  only  to  strike  off  again, 


10 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


leave  the  town,  cross  fields  and  woods,  to  come 
upon  a  back-country  road  or  lane  where  I  knew 
I  might  walk  all  day  without  danger.  Feel- 
ing myself  comparatively  safe  here,  as  the 
sun  came  up,  I  chose  a  snug  fence-corner, 
where,  with  my  head  on  my  bag,  I  slept  away 
much  of  the  fatigue  of  the  night.  I  was  awa- 
kened by  the  clear  sharp  whistle  of  a  farmer, 
who  eyed  me  closely  as  he  passed  by  to  his  mor- 
ning's  work.  It  was  novel  to  me,  and  not 
pleasant,  to  shrink  from  any  one's  observation; 
but  I  felt  that  it  was.  something  I  should  be- 
come accustomed  to.  "Mornin',"  said  he 
cheerily,  as  if  he  saw  nothing  very  desperate  in 
my  face. 

"Good  morning,  sir.  Could  you  tell  me 
where  I  could  find  and  pay  for  some  breakfast  ? 
I'm  traveling  cheaply,  you  see — by  my  own 
conveyance, — as  poor  men  have  to." 

I  smiled  as  I  said  it,  and  he,  waking  to  sym- 
pathy with  a  brother  workman,  jerked  his 
lliumb  over  his  shoulder,  saying — 

"  Over  yon  is  my  house.  I  guess  wife'll  give 
ye  somethin'  to  eat" — and  she  did. 

When  I  was  again  on  the  road  I  had  gone  but 
a  little  way,  when  another  farmer  came  along 
with  a  hay- wagon  and  offered  to  take  me  up,  as 
far  as  he  was  going.  I  climbed  to  a  seat  beside 
him. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Hampton  ?"  I  asked. 

"  'Leven  mile.    Going  there  ?" 

"  Going  through  there,  I  suppose." 

"Great  times  there  just  now.  I  was  over 
to  Hampton  yisterday  with  some  butter' n  eggs, 
and  I  heard  talk  of  the  murder  of  the  big  doc- 
tor there.  'Spose  you  hain't  heard  on't,  if 
you  don't  belong  in  these  parts.  They  say 
his  own  nephew  pisened  him  to  git  his 
money." 

"  He  must  be  a  hard  case !" 

"0,  awful!  allays  was,  they  say.  The  peo- 
ple talk  of  lynching  him.  You  see,  his  uncle 
did  everything  for  him,  and  he  jist  turned 
'round  an'  murdered  him,  and  stole  the  gold 
which  ought  to  belong  to  his  uncle's  wife  an' 
daughter. 

"What  did  they  do  with  him?  and  what 
did  he  do  with  the  gold  ?" 

"They  hain't  done  anything  with  him  yit, 
— but  they  will.  What  he's  done  with  the  gold 
is  a  myst'ry.  'Twas  all  in  a  box.  He  must  a 
buried  it,  not  thinkin'  he'd  be  suspected,  and 
calculating  to  wait  until  he'd  a  chance  to  make 
off  with  it.  They  say  the  Doctor  died  so  sud- 
den he  hadn't  no  time  to  tell  anything,  but  he 
tried  to  write  somethin',  they  can't  make  out 
what,  only  there's  a  figger,  and  nobody  knows 
what  it  means." 

"Curious,"  I  remarked,  mechanically. 


My  companion  continued  to  discuss  the  en 
grossing  subject  while  I  sank  into  silence, 
scarcely  hearing  what  he  said.  My  mind  re- 
verted to  the  calamity  which  had  overtaken 
Meredith  Place  ;  to  its  effect  upon  myself  and 
others.  The  rough  words  of  the  farmer  brought 
all  more  vividly  before  me.  The  terrible  day 
rolled  back  upon  me  with  a  crushing  weight — 
the  day  of  the  murder.  As  I  have  said,  Doctor 
Meredith  had  been  home  but  three  weeks, — 
busy  weeks  to  him,  as  he  was  looking  over  his 
papers,  getting  ready  to  settle  his  accounts, 
pay  off  the  mortgages  due  in  July,  and  reno- 
vate the  old  place. 

It  was  a  beautiful,  sunny  day,  the  16th  of 
June.  Miss  Miller's  trunks  stood,  strapped,  in 
the  hall,  waiting  the  morrow's  stage.  I  was 
to  leave  the  following  Monday.  Lillian  and  I 
were  walking  back  and  forth  on  the  porch,  she 
in  one  of  her  most  brilliant  moods,  I  in  one  of 
my  most  stupid. 

Suddenly,  as  she  teased  and  jested  with  me 
on  my  stubbornness  and  silence,  scream  after 
scream  rang  through  the  house,  so  sharp,  so 
wild,  they  filled  the  air  with  a  nameless  terror. 
Lillian  caught  my  arm.  Together  we  rushed 
into  the  hall.  Those  piercing  shrieks  came 
from  the  library,  where,  pressing  in  at  once, 
we  saw  my  uncle  dead  upon  the  floor,  his  young 
wife  standing  over  him,  unconscious  of  every- 
thing in  the  first  shock,  crying  out  in  that 
dreadful  manner. 

Immediately  Miss  Miller,  drawn  by  her 
screams,  joined  us,  the  servants  came  pouring 
in,  a  confused,  helpless  group. 

"It  must  be  apoplexy — and  heart-disease," 
spoke  Miss  Miller,  "bring  water, — open  his 
vest!" 

"It  is  vain,"  I  said,  as  I  obeyed  her,  "my 
uncle  is  dead." 

Let  me  pass  over  the  succeeding  hour.  Phy- 
sicians came,  but  they  had  nothing  to  do  just 
then  but  to  administer  to  the  wildly-distressed 
wife  and  daughter.  Miss  Miller  proved  the 
strength  of  her  nerves  and  resolution.  She 
did  all  that  could  be  done  to  calm  the  house- 
hold and  keep  it  in  order.  Neighbors  came 
in ;  the  doctors,  with  others,  examined  the 
body  and  took  note  of  the  room — soon  with  a 
minute,  terrible  and  searching  interest — for 
almost  the  first  thing  they  found  was  a  wine- 
glass, partially  emptied  of  its  contents,  in  the 
bottom  of  which  was  perhaps  a  spoonful  of 
port  wine,  emitting  an  odor  speaking  at 
once  to  the  experienced  physicians  of  prussic 
acid.  This  discovery  was  carefully  withheld 
from  Lillian  and  Ines.  The  room  was  thor- 
oughly investigated  and  placed  under  lock-and- 
key. 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


11 


For  tlie  first  few  hours  it  was  universally 
thought  that  Dr.  Meredith  had  committed 
suicide.  Those  engaged  in  the  matter  looked 
for  some  written  confession  or  explanation.  As 
I  have  said,  nothing  was  found  but  that  trem- 
ulous figure  eight  scrawled  upon  the  sheet,  as  if 
the  Doctor,  in  the  very  act  of  swallowing  the 
deadly  draught,  had  felt  it  do  its  work  too 
swiftly  to  allow  him  to  finish  it,  and  he  had 
dropped  the  glass  and  grasped  the  pen,  urged 
by  an  all-powerful  desire  to  leave  some  mes- 
sage to  his  friends. 

"When  they  had  a  little  more  leisure  to  re- 
flect upon  it,  the  men  engaged  in  the  investi- 
gation began  to  ask  themselves  what  possible 
motive  Doctor  Meredith  could  have  for  com- 
mitting suicide.  His  affairs  were  in  a  most 
prosperous  condition,  his  health  was  good,  he 
was  happy  in  the  society  of  a  young  wife — how 
improbable  that  he  should  have  flung  life  away 
at  its  most  golden  moment !  They  whispered 
together,  rolled  their  eyes  about,  scrutinized 
every  member  of  the  household,  lingering  with 
most  suspicious  looks  upon  myself,  the  poor 
relative,  and  upon  the  little  foreign  lady,  the 
bride  of  a  few  weeks,  the  black-eyed  Cuban 
girl  with  her  southern  temperament  of  fire  and 
honey.  Probably  they  saw  little  in  either  of 
us  to  confirm  their  vague  surmises,  and  they 
gradually  settled  down  to  the  conviction  that 
the  doctor  had  poisoned  himself  through  care- 
lessness. His  laboratory  had  a  good  store  of 
poisons — he  was  always  dabbling  in  dangerous 
things — making  curious  experiments — perhaps 
at  last  he  had  fallen  a  victim  to  his  own  curios- 
ity or  inadvertency. 

In  fact,  at  the  Coroner's  inquest  the  verdict 
was  that  Dr.  Meredith  had  come  to  his  death, 
in  all  human  probability,  from  the  careless 
use  of  prussic  acid. 

There  the  matter  might  have  rested  in  the 
minds  of  the  community,  had  not  the  tragedy 
been  followed  by  the  startling  discovery  of  the 
disappearance  of  the  box  which  contained  all 
the  treasure  which  the  doctor  had  brought 
i  from  California. 

He  had  kept  this  box  in  his  own  bed-cham- 
\  ber,  where  Lillian  and  myself  had  examined  its 
contents  but  two  days  previously ;  we  knew 
;  the  closet  where  it  stood,  and  led  the  executors 
i  to  the  spot  without  a  thought  of  the  dismay 
i  which  awaited  us,  when  the  door  was  broken 
j  open,  the  key  being  lost,  and  no  box  was  to  be 
I  found. 

This  second  stroke  of  fate  added  anew  to  our 
trouble,  not  so  much  to  Lillian's,  for  she  was 
too  wrapped  in  grief,  and  too  ignorant  of  the 
uses  of  money,  to  feel  the  force  of  the  blow.  I 
comprehended  all  it  meant.    Poverty,  absolute 


poverty,  for  these  two  young  creatures.  Mere- 
dith Place  would  be  sold  over  their  heads  in 
less  than  a  month.     No  shelter,  no  support 
awaited  them.    Oh,  that  I  had  the  energy,  the 
I  talent,  the  opportunity  to  make  and  keep  a 
;  home  for  them !    I  felt  instinctively  that  if 
j  Lillian's  fortune  was  lost,  Arthur  Miller  would 
i  desert  her,  and,  believing  that  she  loved  him, 
I  feared  she  would  sink  under  so  much  wretch- 
edness. 

"I  must  find  that  box!  I  must  find  that 
box  !"  I  said  to  myself,  day  and  night.  "Oh, 
if  I  could  unravel  the  mystery  of  that  figure 
eight !" 

In  some  manner  I  had  it  impressed  on  my 
mind  that  there  was  some  connection  between 
that  figure  eight  and  the  missing  gold.  I  had 
no  earthly  reason  for  thinking  so,  yet  the  idea 
was  like  fire  burning  in  my  brain. 

As  days  passed  I  was  constrained  to  see  some- 
thing new  in  the  manner  of  all  who  approached 
me.  Instinctively  I  knew  the  cause  of  it. 
Finally,  Arthur  Miller,  with  a  cool  audacity 
for  which  I  knocked  him  down,  told  me  that 
it  was  the  general  belief  that  I  had  stolen  the 
gold  and  murdered  my  uncle.  He  would  ad- 
vise me,  as  a  friend,  to  leave  the  country,  for 
i  he  looked,  every  hour,  to  hear  of  my  arrest. 

As  I  say,  I  knocked  him  down.  He  could 
afford  to  brush  the  dust  off  his  coat  with  a 
smile  ;  he  was  speaking  truth,  for  once,  and  he 
left  me  to  the  bitter  consciousness  of  it. 

Of  course  they  would  suspect  me  !  was  I  not 
an  idle  fellow !  Had  I  not  been  an  adventur- 
er ?  Could  any  one  tell  any  good  of  me  ?  "Was 
not  my  father  a  wicked  and  dissipated  man 
'  before  me  ?  Did  not  the  village  still  remember 
when  I  came,  ragged  and  rough,  to  my  un- 
cle's,— that  benevolent  man^who  had  warmed 
the  viper  in  his  bosom  only  to  be  stung  to 
death  at  last ! 

I  could  imagine  just  what  they  were  saving 
and  thinking.  Oh,  God  !  Lillian  would  hear 
all  this,  before  long.  Would  she,  too,  suspect 
and  condemn  me  ? 

They  had  locked  up,  for  safe  keeping,  the 
sheet  of  paper  with  the  figure  eight  upon  it, 
j  but  I  saw  it  always,  as  plainly  as  if  I  held  the 
i  page  in  my  hand.    Was  that  figure  the  key 
to  the  crime  and  mystery  ?  I  must  decipher 
:  it !    Ruin  impended  over  me — aye,  worse  yet, 
j  it  impended  over  her  I  loved — over  Meredith 
Place ! 

"Dying,  hok"—so  much  of  the  scrawled 
message  it  had  been  easy  to  decipher.  Oh, 
that  the  failing  sight,  the  cramping  muscles 
had  but  retained  their  vigor  a  moment  longer, 
that  the  remainder  of  this  solemn  testament 
might  have  been  made  plain !    Look,  where  ? 


12 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


If  the  box  had  been  stolen  by  the  one  who  poi- 
soned him,  then,  of  course,  my  uncle  himself 
must  have  been  unaware  of  its  whereabouts, 
and  the  message  could  not  have  related  to 
that.  Still,  I  felt  that  it  did  refer  to  it.  The 
doctor  had  been  a  person  with  many  singular 
ways  and  habits ;  he  might  have  taken  a  fan- 
cy that  his  fortune  was  not  safe,  and  himself 
had  hidden  it  in  some  unflndable  spot,  una- 
ware of  the  catastrophe  impending  over  him. 

This  idea  was  so  improbable  that  I  could 
never  entertain  it  for  many  consecutive  mo- 
ments, ever  returning  from  every  speculation  on 
the  subject  to  the  same  dull  feeling  of  despair. 

So  entirely  was  I  lost  in  these  recollections 
that  I  groaned  aloud,  forgetful  of  my  compan- 
ion, till  he  jogged  my  elbow  inquiring  if  I  were 
in  pain,  when  I  started  to  find  myself  in  com- 
pany with  a  stranger,  jolting  along  over  the 
rough  country  road. 

"  My  head  aches,"  I  said,  in  answer  to  his 
question.  "  I  took  a  nap  on  the  dew  this  morn- 
ing and  have  neuralgia,  to  pay  for  it." 

"Must  be  more  keerful  of  yerself,  young 
man.  You'll  grow  more  prudent  as  you  grow 
older.  But  I  turn  off,  here, — yonder' s  the  road 
to  Hampton  ;  you're  about  six  miles  from  there 
now.  If  they  catch  that  Joe  Meredith,  I'm 
going  to  bring  my  wife  and  children  and  come 
over  to  see  him  hung.  It'll  be  satisfaction  to 
see  such  a  rascal  got  out  o'  the  way.  Good 
bye,  stranger.  Hope  you'll  get  over  your  neu- 
rolagy."  "  He'd  cure  with  a  hempen  applica- 
tion to  my  neck,  if  he  knew  who  I  was," 
thought  I,  as  he  turned  his  horses'  heads, 
while  I  jogged  on  towards  Hampton. 

I  was  now  in  the  vicinity  of  home,  so  that 
it  behooved  me  to  be  careful  in  meeting  peo- 
ple on  the  road  ;  and  I  soon  took  to  the  fields 
and  woods,  slowly  making  my  way,  by  unin- 
habited routes,  until  I  found  myself  in  the 
glorious  old  woods  which  bounded  the  north 
and  east  of  the  Meredith  estate. 

I  will  state  my  reasons  for  so  abruptly  aban- 
doning my  flight  to  the  city  and  returning 
upon  my  course.  The  incident  of  the  preced- 
ing night  appeared  to  me  of  sufficient  import- 
ance to  warrant  my  changing  my  plans.  I 
believed  that  Miss  Miller  had,  or  thought  she 
had,  a  clue  to  the  mystery,  and  I  resolved  to 
place  myself  as  a  spy  over  her  movements. 
Difficult  as  it  might  seem  to  enact  the  part  of 
spy,  when  I  was  obliged  to  keep  myself  con- 
cealed, there  would  also  be  advantages  in  my 
position.  The  woman  was  an  artful  and  tal- 
ented one  ;  I  never  had,  in  a  three  years  resi- 
dence under  the  same  roof,  pretended  to  under- 
stand her  ;  I  knew  that  she  was  afraid  of,  while 
she  hated  me  ;  and  in  my  absence  she  might 


betray  herself  and  her  purposes  in  a  hundred 
ways  upon  which  she  would  not  venture  under 
my  observation. 

However,  it  would  be  necessary  for  me  to 
have  an  ally.  In  the  woods  where  I  now  skulk- 
ed, stood  a  cottage  belonging  to  the  estate,  in- 
habited at  present  only  by  an  old  woman 
whose  son  had  worked  the  farm  the  previous 
summer,  but  had  now  gone  West  to  try*  his 
hand  on  land  of  his  own.  His  mother  was  to 
come  to  him  when  he  was  fairly  settled  and 
able  to  send  for  her.  In  the  meantime, 
through  my  good-nature,  in  the  Doctor's 
absence,  she  had  been  allowed  to  occupy  the 
cottage  rent  free  ;  she  was  also  the  recipient  of 
many  a  tid-bit  from  the  kitchen,  while  I  had 
a  double  claim  upon  her  gratitude  by  having 
assisted  her  son  to  emigrate,  and  by  assiduous- 
ly nursing  her  through  an  attack  of  rheumatic 
fever.  I  had  chopped  wood  and  built  fires  for 
her  with  my  own  hands,  had  steeped  many  a 
cup  of  tea  for  her,  and  rubbed  her  creaking  old 
joints  till  my  own  muscles  ached.  For  all  this 
she  had  been  garrulous  in  protestations  of  grat- 
itude.   I  was  now  about  to  test  its  quality. 

Lingering  in  the  vicinity  until  assured  that 
she  had  no  visitors  I  approached  the  open  door 
to  find  Gram' me  Hooker  knitting  peacefully, 
her  old  face  bathed  in  the  July  sunshine. 

"  Doctor  Joe,  be  that  you !" 

She  always  called  me  Doctor  Joe,  though  I 
was  hardly  entitled  to  the  dignity  of  the  pre- 
fix. 

"It's  Doctor  Joe,  himself,  gram' me." 

"I  heard  tell  you'd  gone  away,  an'  I  felt 
powerful  bad,  for  I  said  to  myself,  why  should 
the  innocent  flee  before  the  wrath  o'  men  ?  The 
wicked  may  prevail  for  a  time,  but  the  Lord 
is  mighty,  and  his  arm  is  long." 

"  Then  you  truly  believe  me  to  be  innocent, 
gram' me  1" 

"  Doctor  Joe,  I  know  your  heart.  It's  ten- 
der as  a  gal's  ;  you  could  never  do  any  thin' 
cruel.  People  may  go  on  as  they  like — I  shall 
alias  stand  up  fer  you,  come  what  will." 

"  Thank  you,  gram'me,  thank  you,  most 
heartily.  You  are  the  first  who  has  told  me 
so.  Now  I  will  make  known  my  errand. — It 
was  to  ask  you  to  hide  me  in  your  cettage,  to 
keep  my  presence  here  a  secret,  so  that  I  can 
keep  myself  out  of  prison  while  I  take  steps  to 
prove  myself  innocent,  and  perhaps,  to  stive 
Meredith  Place  to  those  two  helpless  young 
things. ' ' 

"Poor  critters  !"  sighed  gram'me,  "my  heart 
aches  for  'em.  You  come  inside,  Doctor  Joe, 
and  I'll  set  on  the  step  and  keep  a  look-out. 
You've  no  idea  what  a  fuss  it's  kicked  up — 
your  clearin'  out  last  night.    The  hull  place 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


13 


bin  an  uproar.  Everybody  says  you're  guilty 
now.  They've  sent  the  constable  on  to  track 
you.  I  was  over  to  the  house  this  mornin'. 
Miss  Lillian  was  a-crying  as  if  her  heart  would 
break.  That  governess  o'  hern,  she  put  her 
arm  around  her  an'  tol'  her  not  to  mind, — she 
didn't  see  how  she  could  cry  after  a  man  who 
had  killed  her  own  father." 

"What  did  Lillian  reply?"  I  eagerly  in- 
quired. 

"  Bless  heT  sweet  soul !  she  don't  believe 
you  done  it.  She  said  so  up  an'  down,  in  a  fit 
of  passion,  I  tell  you  ;  but  that  woman,  she 
Just  smiled  as  if  she  pitied  her.  I  felt  like 
flyin'  up,  myself;  but  'twarn't  my  place  ;  so  I 
only  whispered  to  Miss  Lilly  that  I  thought  as 
die  did,  an'  we'd  stick  by  it.  She  went  her- 
self then  and  brought  me  a  strawberry-pie,  and 
you  shall  have  it  for  your  dinner,  Doctor  Joe." 

"  Thank  you,  gram'me  ;  I'll  share  it  with 
you.  Now,  what  I  desire  is  to  stay  here  quiet- 
ly in  the  day  time,  and  to  go  out  nights  as 
much  as  is  prudent,  and  watch  the  old  place, 
Inside  and  out.  I  feel  as  if  I  should  make  dis- 
coveries. And  I  believe  you  can  help  me  very 
much,  gram'me,  by  keeping  me  informed  of 
what  happens  in  the  village  and  at  the  house, 
and  by  doing  errands  for  me." 

I  could  see  that  she  was  delighted  at  the 
•  confidence  reposed  in  and  the  service  asked  of 
her  ;  her  crooked  back  straightened  itself  with  a 
consciousness  of  new  responsibilities.  She  hob- 
bled about  and  got  lunch  for  me  while  I  kept 
|  guard.    Fortunately  gram'me's  visitors  were 
'  few  and  far  between  ;  Lillian  and  myself  com- 
j  prising  nearly  the  entire  list.    She  spread  some 
j  bedding  for  me  on  the  floor  of  the  garret,  and 
j  thither  I  retired  to  prepare  myself  for  another 
|  vigil.    I  slept  several  hours,  awaking  at  twi- 
j  light,  drank  the  tea  which  gram'me  Hooker 
I  had  in  readiness,  waited  awhile,  impatiently, 
restlessly,  then,  between  the  hours  of  nine  and 
ten,  set  forth  to  revisit  the  scene  of  last  night's 
adventure. 

It  was  still  some  time  before  I  dared  ap- 
i  proach  the  garden.    I  waited  until  all  the 
I  lights  of  Meredith  Place  were  extinguished, 
i  calming  my  feverish  mood  by  gazing  at  Lil- 
j  Iian's  window.    When  all  was  quiet  within  and 
without,  I  opened  the  gate  and  stole  forward 
to  the  arbor.    My  purpose  was  to  anticipate 
Miss  Miller.    I  felt  that  she  knew  or  suspected 
the  box  of  bullion  to  be  hidden  beneath  its 
pavement.    Two  theories  were  present  in  my 
mind  to  account  for  her  having  visited  the 
1  place  in  her  sleep.    Either  she  was  privy  to 
•  the  fact  of  the  gold  being  hidden  there,  and 
■  had  been  so  affected  by  the  guilty  secret  as  to 
'  be  thrown  into  the  somnambulic  state  by  an  un- 


easy conscience  ;  or  else,  she  merely  wondered 
and  conjectured,  like  others,  and  had  been 
drawn  there  by  some  transient  fancy  during 
the  restlessness  of  a  slumber  disturbed  by  the 
dark  shadow  which  rested  over  the  household. 

It  may  be  thought,  that,  in  comparison  with 
the  loss  of  a  beloved  uncle,  of  Lillian's  father, 
the  loss  of  this  box  was  trivial,  and  that  my 
anxiety  to  decipher  his  dying  words  was  dis- 
proportioned  to  what  the  result  would  be 
should  success  attend  my  efforts ;  but  the 
future  welfare  of  my  young  cousin  depended,  in 
many  ways,  upon  the  recovery  of  the  treasure. 

I  brought  with  me,  on  this  night,  tools  more 
efficient  than  a  pair  of  scissors.  Counting 
seven  stones  from  the  door-step,  I  pried  up  the 
eighth,  with  only  a  few  moments  labor  ; — there 
was  nothing  there.  I  carefully  replaced  it, 
brushing  away  the  loose  soil,  as  Miss  Miller  had 
done  before  me.  Then  I  counted  eight  from 
the  door- way  to  the  left,  and  lifted  the  stone, 
with  the  same  result : — then  eight  to  the  right 
— and  so  on,  for  over  an  hour,  until  almost 
every  combination  which  would  make  an  eight 
had  been  tried. 

"I  have  come  on  a  fool's  errand,"  I  mut- 
tered to  myself,  wearied  and  disappointed. 
' 4  Building  up  hopes  on  the  dreams  of  a  sleep- 
ing woman  is  silly  work." 

I  rested  a  few  moments,  strengthened  my- 
self with  a  look  at  my  cousin's  white-curtained 
casement  glimmering  in  the  moonlight,  counted 
out  eight  in  a  new  direction,  and  was  stooping 
low  over  the  stone,  prying  it  up  with  my  pick- 
axe, when  a  shadow  fell  suddenly  and  silently 
athwart  the  pavement,  and  starting  up,  the 
stone  fell  back  to  its  place,  and  I  confronted 
Miss  Miller. 

I  do  not  know  which  of  us  was  most  con- 
founded. She  was  not  asleep  this  time ;  but 
was  dressed  in  her  day  attire,  with  a  veil 
thrown  over  her  head,  and  she,  too,  had  a  pick- 
axe in  her  hand.  I  rather  think  she  must  have 
been  the  more  startled,  for  she  screamed  aloud, 
— the  first  time  I  had  ever  known  of  her  los- 
ing her  self-possession  enough  to  scream — and 
shrieking  as  she  fled,  she  threw  her  axe  into  a 
bed  of  carnations,  and  ran  toward  the  house* 

It  was  not  long  before  I  saw  lights  moving, 
and  heard  the  voices  of  servants  ;  it  was  time 
for  me  to  retreat,  and  stooping  to  keep  in  the 
shadow  of  the  hedge,  I  gained  the  gate,  closed 
it  noiselessly  after  me,  and  made  my  way  back 
into  the  fields. 

I  would  have  liked  well  to  grasp  and  hold 
the  intruder,  to  wring  from  her,  in  a  moment 
of  terror,  the  object  of  her  nightly  visits  to  the 
arbor ;  but  she  had  eluded  me  too  quickly,  and 
now  that  others  were  alarmed,  my  safety  lay 


14  THE  F1GU1 

in  flight.  "  She  will  not  re-visit  the  arbor  alone 
again  to-night,"  I  said,  as  if  that  were  a  solace 
to  my  own  disappointment. 

"I  will  'leave  no  stone  unturned,'  "  I  con- 
tinued, plunging  into  the  ghostly  woods. 
"But  I  did  leave  a  stone  unturned — perhaps 
the  wrong  one,"  jesting  bitterly  at  my  own  ill- 
luck. 

I  was  quite  certain  that  the  axe  had  struck 
upon  something  different  from  earth  under  that 
last  stone ;  it  was  maddening  to  be  driven 
from  it  just  at  the  moment  of  suspense, — but 
thus  it  was,  and  I  dared  not  return  that  night, 
while  at  the  same  time  I  felt  how  fatal  it  was- 
to  delay  another  twenty-four  hours,  now  that 
one  person,  if  not  more,  was  aware  of  the  nature 
of  the  attempt. 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE  GOVERNESS. 

A  few  paragraphs  will  suffice  to  state  all  that 
is  necessary  to  be  known  with  regard  to  the 
career  of  my  uncle,  Dr.  Meredith.  His  father 
had  been  a  physician  before  him  ;  a  successful 
one,  and  had  left  this  very  old  stone  home- 
stead and  its  broad  acres,  with  considerable 
other  property,  to  his  son,  of  whom  he  had 
high  hopes,  seeing  how  fond  he  was  of  the  pur- 
suits which  had  always  had  such  fascinations 
for  himself.  But,  the  first  Doctor  had  been  a 
worker  and  a  practical  man  ;  the  second  was  a 
dreamer  and  an  impractical  man  in  many  things 
necessary  to  an  outside  prosperity.  The  plain 
country  people  among  wbom  his  practice  lay, 
were  afraid  of  him.  He  was  not  broad  enough 
in  his  humor,  coarse  enough  in  his  jests,  nor 
quack  enough  in  his  treatment  to  give  them 
complete  satisfaction  ;  so  their  patronage  was 
bestowed  on  worthier  aspirants,  and  my  uncle 
lived  very  happily  with  his  beautiful  and  high- 
bred wife,  unmindful  that  the  golden  thread  of 
prosperity  was  slipping  out  of  his  hands,  glad 
not  to  be  called  away  too  frequently  from  his 
darling  experiments  in  the  laboratory,  and  his 
still  more  darling  wife  and  child. 

Little  Lillian  was  the  wonder  and  glory  of  the 
neighborhood.  It  was  a  sight  worth  speaking 
of  when  any  one  had  seen  her,  or  her  mother — 
one  the  reduced  image  of  the  other.  They  rode 
out  nearly  every  fine  day,  and  the  trim  little 
carriage,  the  glittering  harness,  the  jet-black 
ponies,  and  equally  jet-black  driver,  never 
failed  of  awakening  the  same  interest  and  curi- 
osity, while  the  lady  and  child  were  regarded 
as  only  a  little  lower  than  the  angels.  Lillian 
had  long,  bright  hair  which  rippled  down  to 
her  waist,  a  fair,  fair  face,  and  splendid  dark- 
hazel  eyes  which  blazed  like  stars.  You  see,  I 
describe  her,  instead  of  her  mother.    For,  was 


IE  EIGHT. 

she  not  ever,  is  she  not  still,  the  central  J» 
about  which  all  others  revolve  ? 

It  was  Lillian  who  flew,  like  a  gleam  of  sun- 
shine, to  meet  me,  when  the  lumbering  stage 
left  me,  a  penniless  orphan-boy,  stranded  on  my 
uncle's  doorstep  and  my  uncle's  bounty.  She 
was  then  ten  and  I  fourteen.  I  was  poor,  ill- 
dressed,  and  bad.  I  wondered  that  she  could 
be  so  kind  to  me.  My  father,  although  I,  too, 
was  a  Meredith,  never  had  been  anything  but 
a  disgrace  to  his  family.  A  spendthrift,  with 
no  settled  occupation,  he  had  married  an  un- 
educated woman,  who  yet  had  a  heart  which  he 
could  break,  and  who  had  died  in  poverty  when 
I  was  six  years  old.  After  her  death  I  was 
confided  to  the  care  of  such  persons  as  my  father 
could  induce  to  keep  me  for  small  compensa- 
tion. When  my  board-bill  remained  too  long 
unpaid,  I  would  be  turned  adrift,  and  then  he 
would  find  me  another  home,  equally  wretched 
with  the  last.  Thus  I  had  lived,  in  a  city  too, 
exposed  to  all  the  associations  besetting  a  boy 
who  spent  the  most  of  his  time  on  the  street, 
until  I  was  thirteen,  when  my  father,  also, 
died,  writing,  on  his  death-bed,  a  letter  to  Dr. 
Meredith,  which  resulted  in  my  being  sent  for 
by  him,  and  adopted  into  his  family. 

I  did  not  then  realize  how  great  must  have 
been  the  generosity,  how  keen  the  sense  of  duty 
of  my  uncle,  in  bringing  a  child  like  me  into 
his  house,  allowing  me  to  sit  at  his  board,  to 
enjoy,  under  restriction,  the  companionship  of 
his  daughter,  and  in  devoting  so  much  of  his 
time  to  my  neglected  education.  The  patience 
with  which  he  strove  to  eradicate  my  vices  and 
encourage  my  virtues  I  was  then  too  young  to 
appreciate.  I  was  ungrateful.  I  fretted  under 
this  unaccustomed  restraint.  My  new  life  would 
have  been  intolerable  had  it  not  been  for  the 
boundless  passion  I  cherished  for  my  cousin. 
From  the  moment  my  eyes  fell  on  her  I  had 
exalted  her  to  a  niche  in  the  neglected  temple 
of  my  soul  where  I  daily  knelt  before  her  image 
worshiping  her  as  something  supremely  beau- 
tiful and  holy. 

' 4  He  is  too  much  like  his  father,"  my  uncle 
would  say,  with  a  sigh,  when  I  had  deserted 
my  studies  for  some  reckless  piece  of  mischief, 
or  the  society  of  the  workmen  on  the  place. 
"If  he  has  been  made  wrong  we  must  remake 
him,"  my  aunt  would  answer,  bending  such  a 
gentle,  pitiful  regard  on  me,  as  melted  me, 
secretly,  to  remorse  and  good  resolutions. 

I  did  mean  to  be  good,  I  did  try  ;  but  I  was 
like  my  father,  and  I  was  the  victim  of  a  most 
pernicious  training.  If  Lillian,  so  happy,  so 
pure,  could  have  dreamed  of  my  struggles,  my 
agonies  of  shame,  my  resolutions  made  only  to 
be  broken,  she  would,  perhaps,  have  held  out 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


15 


her  little  soft  hand  to  help  me.  But  she  re- 
garded me,  generally,  with  a  shy  curiosity 
mingled  with  a  slight  degree  of  aversion  for 
the  "  naughty  boy."  Her  evident  natural  cra- 
ving for  child-society  and  liking  for  me  was 
held  in  check  by  opposing  feelings  of  doubt 
and  mistrust.  I  resented  this  bitterly  while  I 
worshiped  her  none  the  less  passionately.  My 
heart  was  softer  toward  Mrs.  Meredith  than 
any  other  living  person.  Alas !  before  I  had 
dwelt  a  year  under  her  soothing  influence,  she 
was  snatched  from  us  all,  dying  suddenly  of  a 
prevailing  fever. 

Her  death  was  a  terrible  calamity.  It  made 
me  very  wretched  ;  but  when  I  looked  into  my 
uncle's  face  I  saw  a  shadow  there  which  I  felt 
would  never  lighten.  I  was  very  lonely  the 
succeeding  year.  Lillian  and  I  were  separated 
more  than  ever.  Except  at  table  we  seldom 
met.  Possibly  the  mother,  on  her  death-bed, 
warned  my  uncle  to  be  cautious  of  allowing  an 
intimacy  to  spring  up  between  us,  for  he  seemed 
very  jealous  of  his  child,  and  evidently  had 
placed  her,  and  the  young  lady  whom  he  had 
procured  as  governess  and  companion  for  her, 
under  limitations  as  to  the  extent  of  their 
friendly  offices  towards  me.  He  did  not  intend 
to  harden  me,  nor  to  rob  me  of  the  womanly 
influences  which  I  secretly  craved ;  he  but 
sought  to  protect  his  own,  while  doing  no  in- 
justice to  me.  He  did  not  neglect  me ;  in  all 
his  troubles,  he  gave  daily  attention  to  my 
studies,  but  there  was  a  mechanism  in  his  in- 
struction which  taught  me,  instinctively,  that 
his  heart  was  not  in  his  work. 

In  the  meantime  another  shadow  was  creep- 
ing over  Meredith  Place — the  gaunt  shadow  of 
poverty.  While  his  wife  lived,  the  Doctor  had 
indulged  in  a  liberal  and  elegant  style  suited 
to  her  habits  and  tastes  ;  she  died  just  in  time 
to  escape  the  knowledge  that  he  had  lived  up 
all  his  means,  even  to  selling  a  portion  of  the 
farm-lands  properly  belonging  to  Meredith 
Place,  and  that  his  income  from  his  profession 
was  ludicrously  inadequate  to  the  expenditures 
of  the  place. 

Now,  instead  of  seeking  to  enlarge  his  prac- 
tice, he  shrank  more  into  his  library  and  labo- 
ratory than  ever.  His  intercourse  with  his 
own  family  was  principally  confined  to  the 
table.  In  vain  Miss  Miller,  Lillian's  governess, 
sought  to  entertain  and  amuse  him,  to  draw 
him  into  the  parlor  after  tea,  or  into  a  walk  on 
the  lawn  with  his  little  daughter  and  herself. 

Young  as  I  was  at  that  time,  I  possessed  a 
natural  acumen  which  made  me  keenly  sensible 
to  the  arts  and  graces  practiced  by  this  woman 
upon  the  unconscious  master  of  the  house. 
Often  and  often  I  amused  myself  both  with 


her  skill  and  audacity,  as  well  as  with  the  mild, 
innocent  indifference  of  my  uncle.  Sheathed 
in  the  panoply  of  an  impenetrable  grief,  her 
cunning  arrows  glanced  from  him  totally  un- 
felt  and  unperceived.  It  was  so  now  —  but 
would  it  always  be  so  ?  I  did  not  like  the  idea 
of  Miss  Miller  ever  becoming  Lillian's  mother. 
The  mere  apprehension  that  this  might  be  the 
result  of  her  position  in  the  household,  made 
me  dislike  her.  You  may  rest  assured  she  was 
not  slow  to  return  this  aversion  :  you  may  be 
equally  sure  that  she  held  the  best  cards,  and 
that  I  was  powerless  to  gainsay  her  misrepre- 
sentations. 

She  was  a  young  woman  whom  one  of  her 
own  sex  would  never  have  elected  to  the  place 
which  she  now  filled, — for  a  woman  would  have 
read  her  character  by  intuition  ;  while  she  was 
just  the  one  to  dazzle  and  deceive  a  man. 
Accomplished  she  doubtless  was ;  of  a  good 
family,  too,  and  with  superior  recommendations; 
handsome,  likewise,  with  black  eyes  and  hair, 
a  sparkling  smile  and  elegant  figure.  But, 
there  was  indomitable  ambition  written  on  the 
smooth,  broad  forehead  and  rather  heavy  brow, 
and  a  light  deep  down  beneath  the  surface- 
smile  of  the  dark  eye,  which  was  both  subtle 
and  bold.  A  woman  not  too  modest,  with 
talent  for  any  kind  of  a  sharp  game  in  life,  and 
with  a  restless  temperament  which  always 
would  be  prompting  to  action. 

Why  should  such  a  woman  settle  down  into 
the  quiet  routine  of  Meredith  Place  ? 

I  felt  quite  sure  that  her  duties  as  governess 
to  one  apt  and  loving  little  pupil  were  not  her 
most  engrossing  occupations. 

However,  as  I  have  said,  she  held  the  winning 
cards.  What  could  a  lad,  with  an  unhappy 
reputation  and  unpleasant  manners,  do,  in  the 
struggle  with  a  person  of  her  position?  If  I 
was  too  sharp ;  if  she  felt  that  my  curious  re- 
gard was  upon  her  when  she  was  making  her- 
self all  that  was  attractive  and  sympathetic  to 
the  mourning  widower ;  if  her  cheek  often 
flushed  under  the  wicked  look  I  forgot  to  sup- 
press, she  had  her  revenge.  I  felt  that  my 
uncle  liked  me  less  with  every  day  of  my  stay 
with  him;  and  Lillian,  that  sweet,  affectionate 
child,  gradually  shunned  me  as  if  I  were  some- 
thing vile  or  dangerous. 

I  could  not  endure  this.  I  had  the  Meredith 
pride,  if  I  had  not  the  Meredith  dignity.  The 
United  States  took  a  fancy  to  enlarge  her  pos- 
sessions about  that  time ;  the  Mexican  war 
passed  from  rumor  into  reality ;  my  long- 
cherished  purpose  to  run  away  from  a  home 
which  I  enjoyed  upon  sufferance  only,  took 
tangible  shape.  At  fifteen  I  was  a  drummer- 
boy  marching  in  the  van  or  lagging  in  the  rear 


16 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


of  my  regiment,  following  the  stars-and-stripes 
to  tropic-skies,  my  fancy  gorgeous  with  visions 
Of  a  land  of  flowers  and  beauty,  my  ambition 
sweeping  upward  towards  the  gold  eagle  of  pro- 
motion,— the  suffering  and  ennui  of  Meredith 
Place  sinking  back  into  the  far-away,  lighted 
by  only  one  ray  of  heavenly  light, — the  ever- 
present  memory  of  my  cousin  Lillian. 

For  Tier,  I  would  win  glory  and  renown  ;  for 
her  my  name  should  become  associated  with 
great  deeds ;  my  enemies  should  rescind  their 
opinions,  and  triumph  should  be  mine. 

In  the  meantime,  I  marched  away  to  priva- 
tions, hardships,  evil  company  and  many  tempt- 
ations, leaving  my  relatives  entirely  ignorant 
of  my  destiny,  and  thinking  this  crowning  act 
of  my  life,  this  running  away  in  the  night, 
without  farewell  or  word  as  to  my  purposes, 
only  what  was  to  be  expected  of  me. 

CHAPTEK  IV. 

MEREDITH  PLACE,  IN  SHADOW. 

Two  years  thereafter  I  re-entered  the  large 
square  hall  of  the  old  stone  house.  The  door 
stood  open,  as  it  always  did  in  summer-time ; 
the  door  at  the  rear  also  stood  wide,  and  a 
breeze,  rich  with  the  perfumes  of  the  flower- 
garden,  was  wafted  towards  me  as  I  entered. 
No  one  had  noticed  my  approach,  which  gave 
me  leisure  to  observe  how  all  things  remained 
unchanged  during  what  seemed  to  me  so  long, 
long  a  time.  The  ivy  waved  from  the  tower, 
the  cat  lay  sleeping  in  the  sun  on  the  mat,  the 
old  settle  was  ranged  along  the  wall,  the  pic- 
tures hung  there — all  as  if  it  were  only  yester- 
day I  had  deserted  them.  A  broad  beam  of 
the  declining  sun  shot  through  from  the  back 
entrance,  touched,  it  seemed  to  me,  with  the 
color  and  fragrance  of  the  old  garden  which  I 
had  once  loved  so  well,  and  my  heart  cried  out, 
with  the  cry  of  a  child  for  love,  forgiveness, 
welcome.  Oh,  that  I  had  a  mother,  or  a  father ! 
oh,  that  Lillian  were  my  friend — my  sister !  oh, 
that  even  my  uncle  regarded  me  with  justice, 
if  not  tenderness ! 

But,  the  broad  beam  crept  forward  and  sought 
me  out,  showing  me  the  dust,  and  stains,  and 
tatters  of  my  faded  army  blue.  My  uncle  had 
not  approved  of  the  war,  and  it  was  not  likely 
that  he  would  approve  of  my  part  in  it,  insig- 
nificant as  that  share  had  been.  Involuntarily 
I  turned  to  the  mirror  set  into  the  wall,  and 
glanced  at  the  tall,  stripling  form,  looking 
taller  and  thinner  than  it  should  from  the 
emaciation  of  sickness  and  pain — the  yellow 
skin,  the  hectic  color  on  the  cheek,  the  faded 
uniform,  the  broken  arm  still  in  its  sling — my 
right  arm,  the  bone  of  which  had  been  so 


shattered  as  to  have  been  saved  only  by  the 
surgeon's  careful  skill,  and  which  threatened 
never  more  to  be  of  any  great  service.  Why  had 
I  wandered  back  here  ?  I  had  no  claims  upon 
my  relatives ;  I  was  not  loved  by  them.  It 
would  be  better  to  steal  away  unannounced — 
with  one  backward  glance  to  give  up  Meredith 
Place  forever — than  to  yield  to  that  weak 
craving  of  my  heart  which  had  led  me  here. 

I  was  about  to  turn,  at  this  suggestion  of 
pride,  when  a  shadow  fell  athwart  the  sunshine 
filling  the  door,  a  light  step  sounded,  a  young 
girl  advanced  into  the  hall  a  few  paces,  when, 
perceiving  me,  standing  there  like  a  beggar  or 
worse,  she  was  surprised  into  dropping  the 
roses  from  her  hands,  and  almost  into  a  scream. 

young  creature,  glowing,  lovely,  material — 
not  a  vision  unsubstantial  as  a  dream. 

I  recognized  my  cousin  Lillian  only  at  the 
second  glance,  such  a  charm  had  those  two 
years  worked  upon  her.  Neither  a  woman  nor 
a  child ;  indescribably  fresh  and  radiant,  like 
the  roses  she  had  been  gathering ;  plenty  of 
color  in  her  cheeks ;  her  eyes,  so  dark  and 
bright,  flashing  with  surprise — I  can  even  re- 
member the  dress  she  wore,  although  our  sex 
is  said  not  to  remark  such  things.  But,  to  me 
that  vision  always  has  remained  as  a  picture, 
perfect  in  all,  even  in  tint  and  color.  The 
floating  lilac  muslin,  the  rosy  sash,  the  white 
shoulders  gleaming  from  a  golden  cloud  of 
curls — my  heart  rose  up  in  my  throat  and 
choked  me.  I  could  not  speak  nor  stir  ;  while 
she,  her  alarm  subsiding,  gave  me  a  searching 
look,  and  as  the  light  of  recognition  dawned 
over  her  face,  I  saw  neither  anger  nor  dislike. 

"  Is  it  you,  cousin  Joe  ?" 

I  held  out  my  left  hand  ;  still,  I  could  not 
speak.  I  always  had  loved  my  little  cousin, 
but  this  young  girl  was  a  new  creation,  and  to 
hear  her  call  me  by  name  with  that  soft  voice, 
to  feel  her  clasp  my  hand  with  that  eager  pres- 
sure, sent  a  thrill  through  my  veins  which  was 
like  the  quickening  of  the  dead .  In  that  mo- 
ment I  was  born  again  to  new  resolves  and 
aspirations ;  but  it  always  was  my  fate  to  ap- 
pear at  a  disadvantage.  I  could  not  answer ; 
and  when  she  glanced  at  my  wounded  arm  I 
blushed  like  one  guilty  of  some  wrong. 

1 '  Poor  Joe !  We  heard  you  were  wounded  at 
Vera  Cruz.  Is  it  bad?"  touching  lightly  the 
sling. 

"Bad  enough,  Lillian,"  I  managed  to  say. 
"  So  you  heard  of  me  ?" 

' 1  Yes,  papa  heard,  a  few  months  ago.  Besides, 
we  saw  your  name  in  the  papers.  You  were 
reported  to  have  been  very  brave." 

She  smiled,  and  I  blushed  yet  deeper. 

"  Is  your  father  very  angry  with  me  ?" 


-  ■/  f 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


19 


"I  think  he  will  be  glad  to  hear  you  have 
come  back." 

"  Is  he  well,  Lillian  ?  is  he  married  again  V* 
"  Married  again  ?"  echoed  my  cousin,  with  a 
gay  laugh — the  idea  was  a  novel  one  to  her  ; 
the  next  instant  her  face  clouded  over,  and  she 
added  sadly,  "  he  will  never  marry,  cousin  Joe. 
He  never  forgets,  for  one  hour,  my  dear  mam- 
ma." 

"  Forgive  me  ;  I  always  blunder,  you  know." 

Here  some  one  stepped  out  from  the  drawing- 
room,  a  lady,  dressed  in  black  silk,  with  black 
hair  and  eyes,  who  chilled  the  sunshine  for  me 
— Miss  Miller,  looking  not  a  day  older,  strong 
and  triumphant  as  ever,  casting  upon  me  a 
glance  of  cool  dislike  and  inc»7iiry,  as  if  I  were 
an  intruder  whom  she  had  a  right  to  thrust 
from  the  halL 

"  Miss  Miller,  here  is  cousin  Joe,"  cried  Lil- 
lian, appealing]  y. 

"Ah,"  said  the  lady,  with  the  slightest  pos- 
sible bow  to  me  ;  "  does  Doctor  Meredith  know 
of  his  arrival  ?" 

The  inference  was  that  if  he  knew,  he  would 
disapprove  of  it.  Lillian  and  I  both  felt  the 
meaning  in  her  icy  tones,  I  was  so  weak  from 
sickness  and  weary  with  my  long  journey  that 
I  had  no  courage  to  renew  ti  e  combat  just 
then  ;  I  began  to  tremble,  and  the  warmth  and 
strength  which  had  come  to  me  with  the  reve- 
lation of  Lillian's  beauty  and  kindness,  deserted 
me  at  the  time  when  I  needed  it  most. 

"Sit  down,"  said  my  cousin,  drawing  me 
towards  the  settle.  "Joe  is  sick,  Miss  Miller. 
Look  at  his  arm.    Papa  must  doctor  him  up. ' ' 

"  Perhaps.  If  such  is  his  judgment.  In  the 
meantime,  you  had  better  announce  the  arrival 
to  him.  No  doubt  he  would  desire  to  be  in- 
formed of  it,  Lillie,  my  dear,  if  he  knew  how 
you  were  committing  yourself." 

I  chafed  at  this  reproof  of  my  cousin,  but  she 
flew  away,  looking  back  with  a  smile,  return- 
ing in  a  few  moments  with  her  father,  and  cry- 
ing before  he  had  an  opportunity  to  speak, 

' '  He  has  promised  to  cure  you,  cousin  Joe — 
to  take  care  of  you  until  you  are  well.  He 
looks  so  ill,  doesn't  he,  papa?" 

Her  gay  words  took  away  all  formality  from 
the  meeting,  which  I  had  dreaded  even  while  I 
sought  it.  My  uncle  called  me  ' '  his  poor  boy. ' ' 
and  said,  with  a  sad,  weary  smile,  that  he 
would  kill  the  fatted  calf,  if  he  had  one  to  kill, 
but  that  his  fatted  calves  had  gone  long  ago,  and 
there  were  no  new  ones  to  take  their  place. 

From  this  I  gathered  a  hint  of  his  poverty. 

It  was  not  many  days  before  I  learned  the 
worst.  The  pretty  carriage  and  the  jet-black 
ponies  were  gone  ;  the  sable  groom,  along  with 
other  of  the  old  family  servants,  had  been  sent 


to  look  out  new  homes  for  themselves  ;  a  pinch- 
ing economy  reigned  in  the  house,  and,  worst 
of  all,  heavy  mortgages  hung  over  Meredith 
Place. 

Then  it  was  I  began  to  wonder  why  Miss 
Miller  still  remained.  I  had  reason  to  believe 
that  her  salary  was  in  arrears,  and  it  could  not 
be  pleasant  for  her  to  share  in  the  privations  to 
which  the  Doctor  silently  submitted,  and  which 
Lillian  was  too  young  and  buoyant  to  greatly 
heed.  If  she  really  loved  Doctor  Meredith 
with  a  true  woman's  love,  which  made  her 
willing  to  serve  him  to  her  own  detriment,  and 
to  share  his  poverty  in  case  he  should  yield  to 
her  constant  influence  and  make  her  his  wife,  I 
should  feel  more  respect  for  her  than  I  had  yet 
felt.  It  might  be  that,  beginning  with  the 
ambition  to  be  the  mistress  of  Meredith  Place, 
she  had  learned  to  love  the  peculiar  and  inter- 
esting man,  still  in  the  prime  of  life — the  quaint 
thinker,  the  earnest  scholar,  the  accomplished, 
although  old-fashioned  gentleman.  If  noble 
looks,  fine  pergonal  gifts,  talents,  and  a  pure 
heart,  could  win  this  woman's  regard,  without 
money,  here  was  the  man  to  gain  her  affections. 
She  nerself  had  passed  that  bloom  of  youth 
when  a  girl  expects  a  choice  of  suitors  ;  ?he 
could  not  be  far  from  thirty  years  of  age,  al- 
though looking  twenty-five,  and  with  that 
showy  style  of  features  and  manners  which 
would  keep  her  looking  no  older  for  some  time 
to  come. 

It  has  been  said— I  do  not  reaffirm  it — that  a 
woman  thinks  more  of  marriage,  of  a  home  and 
settlement,  than  of  any  and  all  other  advan- 
tages. Miss  Miller  doubtless  came  to  Meredith 
Place  with  the  purpose  to  find  such  settlement 
there  ;  at  first  she  was  unaware  of  -  the  debts 
burdening  the  fine  old  estate,  or  the  real  poverty 
of  its  owner  ;  she  knew  only  that  it  was  a  grand 
place  and  the  family  one  in  which  it  would  be 
an  honor  to  enter.  When  she  slowly  discovered 
the  true  state  of  affairs  she  probably  had  already 
allowed  her  feelings  to  dwell  too  fondly  on  its 
master.  The  Doctor  was  a  fascinating  man, 
even  to  his  own  sex  who  had  intelligence  to 
appreciate  him,  his  singularity  and  originality 
adding  to  the  interest  which  surrounded  him. 

I  was  so  much  of  an  invalid  during  the  fall 
and  winter  succeeding  my  return  as  to  be  fit  for 
nothing  but  to  lounge  about  the  house.  My 
uncle  treated  me  with  more  kindness  than  ever, 
there  being  a  touch  of  fatherly  tenderness  in 
his  ministrations ;  and  I  learned  to  love  him, 
next  to  Lillian.  Vacillating  as  were  my  re- 
solves and  many  my  faults,  I  had  the  grace  to 
love  those  whom  I  loved  with  a  fervor,  a  passion, 
a  devotion  which  made  up  the  great  part  of  my 
impulsive  nature.   I  longed  for  a  man' s  strength 


20 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


that  I  might  work  for  him.  I  bitterly  regretted 
the  luck  which  had  flung  my  good  right  arm 
powerless  to  my  side.  Day  by  day  I  could  see 
the  march  of  anxiety,  the  advance  of  trouble, 
yet  I  could  not  prove  my  willingness  to  take  up 
the  burden,  since  I  could  find  nothing  to  do 
suited  to  my  health  and  the  crippled  condition 
of  my  limb.  The  Doctor  would  flee  from  duns 
and  the  threatening  aspect  of  creditors,  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  intricacies  of  his  laboratory, 
which  afforded  him  his  sole  comfort.  Miss  Mil- 
ler was  so  very  patient  and  very  devoted  that  I 
almost  forgot  my  suspicious  dislike  of  her.  She 
kept  the  gloomy  old  house  cheerful  with  a 
seemingly  spontaneous  gayety ;  it  rang  with 
the  music  of  the  piano,  and  her  own  magnifi- 
cent voice ;  and,  no  matter  how  simple  and 
unvaried  the  table-fare,  she  presided  with  the 
same  festive  ceremonies.  She  even  began  to 
develop  a  taste  for  chemistry.  When  she  found 
that  she  could  not  keep  the  master  of  Meredith 
Place  out  of  his  laboratory  by  the  exercise  of 
the  natural  sorcery  of  her  sex,  she  followed 
him  into  that  mysterious  den  where  the  practice 
of  various  black  arts  went  on  continually. 
With  pretty  little  screams  and  starts  she  would 
combine  and  dispart  the  elements,  stifle  herself 
with  gases  and  stir  the  golden  fires  under  the 
crucibles,  cleanse  bottles,  fill  retorts,  blow  tiny 
bellows,  glance  over  learned  treatises,  listen  to 
long  lectures,  so  gracefully,  so  bewitchingly, 
that  I  marveled  at  the  blind  composure  of  my 
dear  uncle  under  it  all.  In  fact,  the  Doctor 
regarded  her  with  something  of  the  same  affec- 
tion he  gave  to  Lillian  ;  all  the  passion  he  ever 
had  felt  for  woman  as  lover  or  wife  slumbered 
in  the  grave  of  her  he  had  lost. 

Still,  Miss  Miller  did  not  despair;  that  I 
could  guess  from  her  deportment.  I  was  glad 
when,  she  took  to  chemistry,  for  it  removed  her 
Argus-eyed  surveillance  from  me, hours  at  a  time, 
when  I  could  be  happy  in  my  arm-chair  or  on 
my  lounge,  looking  at  Lillian,  listening  to  her 
singing,  watching  her  fingers  busy  with  the 
needle  and  her  embroideries. 

I  had  begun  the  study  of  medicine.  My 
uncle  advised  it,  as  I  was  unfitted  for  active 
employment ;  and  I  would  have  been  rash  and 
ungrateful  to  throw  away  the  opportunity  to 
read  under  such  an  instructor.  I  did  not  like 
it ;  on  the  contrary  I  had  no  taste  for  it ;  but  I 
had  no  other  way  of  proving  my  desire  to 
please  him,  and  my  resolution  to  become  indus- 
trious and  reliable. 

Thus  affairs  drifted  slowly  on,  until  the 
world  at  large,  and  the  idlers  of  Hampton 
township  and  village  began  to  discuss  the  mar- 
velous discoveries  of  gold  in  California.  From 
the  very  first  rumors  which  floated  about,  until 


his  final  decision  was  made,  my  uncle  showed 
more  interest  in  this  subject  than  he  had  in 
anything  since  his  wife's  death.  All  the  ro- 
mance of  his  nature  took  fire,  as  he  read  and 
mused  over  the  accounts  from  that  wonderful 
country.  Being  a  geologist  as  well  as  chemist, 
he  felt  a  keen  desire  to  examine  for  himself,  by 
the  light  of  science,  the  fascinating  develop- 
ments of  the  new  El  Dorado .  He  wanted  to  be 
free  from  the  mortifications  which  hampered 
him,  to  shake  off  debts,  duns,  and  depressing 
memories,  to  plunge  into  a  new  life— and,  to 
make  money.  He  would  have  this  longed-for 
adventure,  and,  at  the  same  time,  he  would 
lift  the  shadow  from  Meredith  Place  and  set  it 
once  more  to  glowing  in  the  full  sunshine  of 
prosperity ! 

Thus  he  felt  and  thus  decided.  Miss  Miller 
opposed  him  with  dismay.  But.  when  she  sat- 
isfied herself  that  she  had  no  power  to  keep 
him,  she  yielded,  only  winning  this  concession, 
—that,  on  no  account,  should  he  be  absent 
more  than  two  years.  In  the  meantime,  she 
would  promise  to  remain  that  length  of  time, 
keeping  charge  of  the  house  and  continuing  the 
studies  of  her  young  pupil. 

As  for  me,  I  was  to  continue  to  abide  in  the 
house,  affording  it  the  protection  (!)  of  my 
newly-sprouting  beard,  and  making  use  of  the 
splendid  library  of  the  Doctor  to  perfect  myself, 
as  far  as  mere  reading  could  enlighten  me,  in  a 
knowledge  of  my  future  profession. 

A  third  mortgage  was  placed  on  Meredith 
Place,  giving  my  uncle  the  means  to  provide  for 
our  subsistence  during  his  absence  and  to  pay 
his  passage  on  one  of  the  vessels  which,  as 
spring  came  on,  began  to  turn  their  prows  to- 
wards the  land  of  gold. 

Dr.  Meredith  was  thus  among  the  earliest 
adventurers,  and  soon  becoming  known  as  a 
man  of  science,  his  knov.iedge  and  services  were 
quickly  brought  into  requisition.  His  letters 
were  of  absorbing  interest,  though  not  very 
frequent.  The  wild,  the  mad,  the  strange,  pe- 
culiar and  astonishing  aspects  of  the  new  life 
were  pictured  for  us  with  a  vivid  pen.  The 
gambling- hells,  the  street-murders,  the  incredi- 
ble prices  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  the  hard- 
ships of  miners,  the  destructive  fires,  the 
' ' fever  ' '  for  gold,  with  the  varying  aspects  of 
the  disease,  the  sudden  growth  of  the  canvas 
city,  all  the  novel,  and  wicked,  and  pathetic, 
and  outrageous  lights  and  shadows  of  the  pic- 
ture were  touched  for  us,  and  we  hung  over  his 
letters  as  over  some  thrilling  romance.  Before 
many  months  he  began  to  announce  that  he 
was  coining  money  almost  as  fast  as  he  could 
desire.  With  a  forethought  for  which  he  had 
his  reward,  he  had  expended  a  portion  of  his 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


21 


restricted  fund  obtained  by  the  mortgage,  e very- 
dollar  which  could  be  spared,  in  the  purchase 
of  quinine.  His  supply  of  the  much-needed  and 
fabulously-dear  drug,  united  with  his  skill  as  a 
physician,  and  the  constant  demand  upon  his 
services,  for  which  enormous  fees  were  paid,  soon 
placed  him  on  the  high  road  to  wealth. 

Miss  Miller  felt  that  she  was  about  to  reap 
the  reward  of  long  and  patient  waiting.  I  could 
read  it  in  the  flushed  cheek  and  sparkling  eye. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  year  came  a  remittance, 
with  directions  to  pay  up  the  arrears  of  her 
salary,  with  various  small  debts  made  in  the 
village,  leaving  a  surplus  which  enabled  us  to 
indulge  in  a  few  luxuries. 

Lillian  declared  she  would  have  a  new  silk 
dress  made  full  length  like  Miss  Miller's,  and  a 
bonnet  like  other  young  ladies  : — no  more  hats 
for  her  !  Her  governess  laughed  and  consented. 
Indeed,  she  took  great  pains  with  Lillian's  sum- 
mer toilet,  causing  a  variety  of  pretty  dresses 
and  mantles  to  be  made  up,  and  gloves,  scarfs 
and  all  the  little  ornaments  of  young  ladyhood 
to  be  provided. 

I  enjoyed  the  sight  of  my  beautiful  cousin  in 
these  becoming  toilettes.  For  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  was  really  happy.  Our  life,  was  most 
peaceful.  I  had  the  consciousness  of  duty  per- 
formed, for  I  was  a  close  student,  and  was  re- 
warded for  my  perseverance  by  becoming  deeply 
interested  in  and  fond  of  my  medical  studies. 
I  was  regaining  the  use  of  my  arm  ;  my  health 
was  improving,  and  with  that,  my  looks  also, 
as  my  mirror  told  me.  I  loved  Lillian  quietly, 
with  intense  but  calm  feeling  ;  she  was  pleas- 
ant and  friendly  with  me  ;  and  Miss  Miller  let 
me  alone.  \ 

Yes !  I  was  happy,  for  a  little,  flitting  time.* 

In  the  middle  of  the  summer  Miss  Miller  be- 
gan to  talk  about  her  brother  Arthur.  He  had 
been  overworking  himself,  through  this  hot 
weather,  studying  law  in  a  New  York  city  of- 
fice. She  had  advised  him  to  come  to  the  coun- 
try for  a  two  months'  vacation.  She  had  seen 
so  little  of  him  of  late  years — and  he  was  her 
pet ;  her  favorite  ;  the  youngest  of  the  family — 
she  felt  as  if  she  must  have  him  near  her.  If 
she  could  find  a  boarding-place  not  too  far 
away,  where  Arthur  could  be  comfortable — 

The  young  mistress  of  Meredith  Place  put  on 
quite  a  matronly  air,  as  she  assured  her  dear 
governess  that  she  should  not  listen  to  such  a 
proposition, — Miss  Miller's  friends  and  relatives 
had  the  freedom  of  Meredith  Place.  How 
should  we  all  feel  with  her  brother  boarding  at  a 
strange  house  ? 

Miss  Miller  kissed  the  sweet  face  held  up 
with  such  animation,  and  as  she  finished  her 
embrace  I  met  her  eyes  darting  at  me  a  pecu- 


liar, searching  glance.  I  blushed,  for  I  knew 
that  I  felt  unwilling  to  have  another,  a  stran- 
ger, a  young  gentleman,  intrude  upon  our  quiet 
happiness.  She  smiled  as  I  blushed,  and  all  of 
a  sudden  all  my  old  distrust  and  hatred  sprung 
up  full-armed. 

Her  smile  said  as  plainly  as  words,  that  she  / 
read  me,  and  my  foolish  hopes — that  she  plot- 
ted against  me,  and  that  now,  as  ever,  she  held 
the  winning  cards. 

In  a  few  days  Arthur  Miller  became  our  guest. 
From  the  instant  I  met  his  eye  and  touched  his 
hand,  I  hated  him  a  thousand  times  more  in- 
tensely than  ever  I  had  hated  his  sister.  I 
confess  that  my  impulses  are  not  to  be  relied 
upon  ;  that  I  am  not  well-governed  ;  that  I  was 
madly  jealous  of  him, — and  yet,  withal,  I  am 
certain  that  I  had  true  grounds  for  my  dislike 
Jealousy  sharpened  my  glance,  but,  in  this  in- 
stance, did  not  discolQEfcit. 

Arthur  Miller  was  two  or  three  years  older 
than  myself — young  enough,  but  at  that  age, 
giving  him  immense  superiority  in  the  eyes  of 
young  ladies — a  sufferiority  of  which  I  was 
keenly  sensible.  He  was  very  handsome,  as  far 
as  features,  form,  and  complexion  could  make 
him  so.  To  me  he  was  never  tolerable  looking, 
because  I  hated  the  smooth  smile,  the  red  lips 
formed  for  treacherous  words,  and  the  bold, 
bright  eyes,  so  like  his  sister's.  He  dressed 
elaborately,  was  graceful,  self-possessed,  and 
his  silken  mustache  was  "  sweet  to  see,"  I  sup- 
pose ;  I  could  not  appreciate  him.  My  clothes 
were  shabby  and  old-fashioned,  and  I  had  even 
outgrown  them  ;  I  was  not  graceful,  and  had 
little  self-possession  under  such  disadvantages. 
Still,  I  did  not  under-rate  myself.  I  was  hand- 
some, too — or  would  be  in  a  year  or  two.  My 
face  was  an  honest  one,  and  his  was  not. 

I  saw  that  he  was  pleased  with  Lillian's  ex- 
quisite beauty  ;  I  knew  he  had  resolved,  before 
he  had  been  under  the  roof  of  Meredith  Place 
one  evening,  that  he  would  do  his  part  in  fur- 
therance of  his  sister's  desires  and  designs — 
whatever  these  might  be. 

All  was  plain  enough  to  me.  Doctor  Meredi  th 
was  coming  home,  rich.  Miss  Miller,  not  satis- 
fied with  the  expectation  of  becoming  the 
sharer  of  his  fortune,  was  eager  for  her  favorite 
brother  to  ' '  feather  his  nest ' '  also.  It  would  be 
pleasant  for  her  to  bring  about  a  marriage  be- 
tween him  and  Lillian.  They  could  all  live 
under  one  roof,  enjoy  together  the  fruits  of  their 
labors, — while  I — was  it  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  Meredith  Place  would  be  a  happy  home  for 
me,  when  these  changes  had  transpired  ? 

Already  I  began  to  feel  the  old  desolation  ;— 
already  I  was  a  wanderer,  in  imagination.  Ar 
thur  Miller  had  not  been  our  visitor  a  week 


23 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


before  Lillian  neglected  me  for  him.  It 
was  natural  she  should  do  so.  He  had  the 
charm  of_  newness,  and  a  thousand  other 
charms.  He  was  gay  and  attractive,  making 
the  acquaintance  of  dozens  where  I  would  not 
have  found  time  or  way  for  one.  The  village 
young  people  began  to  find  out  what  a  charm- 
ing haunt  the  old  brown  villa  was.  We  were 
invited  to  pic-nics  and  evening  parties  made 
for  Arthur  Miller  and  Lillian  Meredith.  The 
pretty  toilettes  did  good  service.  We  gave 
entertainments  in  return.  Lillian  was  intoxi- 
cated by  this  first  sparkling  draught  of  social 
enjoyment.  She  had  lived  so  very  secluded 
that  this  gayety  had  the  power  of  novelty  ; — 
and  then  she  was  so  lovely  and  so  sweet  in  her 
manners  that  she  was  flattered  and  petted  al- 
most beyond  bearing  with  equanimity. 

I  went  to  all  the  merry-makings  because  my 
cousin  insisted,  and  because  my  jealousy  would 
not  allow  me  to  stay  away.  It  was  misery  to 
see  them  together  ;  yet  I  could  not  remain  at 
home,  poring  over  my  books,  and  imagining 
those  two  enjoying  each  other's  society.  My 
constant  wish  was  for  the  two  months  to  elapse, 
when  Miller  would  return  to  the  city. 

His  vacation  passed,  and  mate.  Then  Miss 
Miller  announced  that  Arthur  was  so  delighted 
with  the  country,  his  health  so  much  better 
here,  and  it  was  so  much  easier  for  a  young 
man  to  obtain  a  start  in  his  profession  in  a  vil- 
lage than  in  a  city,  he  had  resolved  to  open  an 
office  in  Hampton,  and  remain  at  least  for  the 
winter. 

I  saw  Lillian  smile  and  blush  at  this  intelli^ 
gence.  The  programme  was  carried  out,  the, 
office  secured  ;  and  Arthur,  although  no  longer 
a  guest,  became  almost  a  daily  visitor  at  the 
old  mansion.  I  felt  that  Miss  Miller  had  acted 
dishonorably  in  thus  throwing  her  brother  upon 
Lillian's  attention,  during  the  absence  of  her 
father.  If  she  really  believed  Arthur  a  suita- 
ble and  acceptable  companion  for  her  pupil, 
she  should  at  least  have  waited  for  the  sanction 
of  her  father's  presence.  It  was  hardly  fulfill- 
ing her  duties,  as  she  had  promised  and  assured, 
to  permit  and  encourage  such  an  intimacy  dur- 
ing Doctor  Meredith's  absence. 

Lillian  yet  was  only  touching  upon  woman- 
hood— sixteen  that  summer  — and  to  inveigle 
her  into  an  attachment,  perhaps  an  engage- 
ment, appeared  to  me,  under  the  circumstances, 
the  basest  of  treachery.  If  I  had  liked  the 
young  gentleman  and  approved  of  him,  I  should 
have  felt  the  same.  As  it  was,  I  hardly  knew 
what  course  to  pursue. 

Putting  all  else  aside,  my  own  desires  or 
hopes,  I  could  not  reconcile  myself  to  seeing 
my  cousin  in  the  nets  of  these  two  spiders.  It 


would  not  do  to  write  and  say  as  much  to  Doc- 
tor Meredith,  since  he  had  more  confidence 
in  Miss  Miller  than  he  had  in  me. 

After  much  hesitation,  I  wrote,  early  in  the 
winter,  begging  him  to  come  home  as  soon  as 
convenient,  but  giving  no  special  reason,  except 
that  Lillian  had  become  a  young  lady,  and 
Meredith  Place  needed  a  master  to  keep  ad- 
mirers in  awe. 

His  intention  was,  to  return  in  the  spring, 
and  this  letter  could  not  much  shorten  his 
term  of  absence.  ' 

CHAPTER  Y. 

IN  LIGHT. 

It  was  May  when  Dr.  Meredith  reached  Mere- 
dith Place.  My  letter  had  found  him  involved 
in  business  which  he  could  not  immediately  de- 
sert. Probably  he -attached  no  great  impor- 
tance to  its  injunctions. 

A  telegram  from  New  York  informed  us  of 
his  arrival  and  gave  the  ladies  of  the  household 
opportunity  to  order  a  festal  dinner,  and  to 
adorn  themselves,  as  ladies  will,  on  such  occa- 
sions, to  give  welcome  to  the  long-absent  mas- 
ter. ■#  *' 

As  I  sat  on  the  porch  which  commanded  a 
view  of  the  road,  looking  to  see  the  old  coach 
rolling  along  the  blossom-sprinkled  way,  pink 
with  the  apple  and  peach  blows,-  Miss  Miller 
also  stepped  out  for  an  observation.  For  a 
moment  she  was  unaware  of  my  presence  and 
I  had  full  opportunity  to^read  her  face,  which 
wore  an  eager,  passionate,  expectant  look,  be- 
traying all  her  hidden  love  and  hope.  She  was 
dressed  magnificently,  in  black  velvet,  low  on 
the  shoulders,  with  brilliants  clasped  about  her 
bare  neck  and  arms.  In  her  black  braids  she 
wore  only  a  bunch  of  apple-blossoms.  Her 
cheeks,  usually  rather  sallow,  were  red  as  a 
young  girl's.  She  must  have  expended  all  her 
hoarded  salary  on  this  extravagant  dress  so  un- 
suited  to  her  position.  When  she  saw  me  she 
started,  biting  her  lips  in  a  momentary  embar- 
rassment. 

' '  The  stage  is  late, ' '  I  said,  rising  ;  ' 4  where  is 
Lillian?" 

"  Oh,  she  is  at  the  front  gateway.  She  will 
meet  her  father  there." 

I  went  out  and  joined  my  cousin.  I  knew 
that  Miss  Miller  had  planned  to  meet  Dr. 
Meredith  alone,  where  she  would  dare  to  be- 
tray a  tender  agitation  at  the  meeting,  and 
when,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  she 
might  involuntarily  allow  him  to  perceive  not 
only  what  a  splendid  woman  she  was,  but  how 
deeply  interested  she  was  in  him. 

So,  let  it  be  !    Since  Lillian  was  lost  to  me, 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


23 


the  affairs  of  the  household  might  quietly  slip 
into  the  hands  so  long  awaiting  authority.  My 
own  plans  were  laid,  as  well  as  they  could  be, 
in  my  situation.  As  soon  as  my  uncle  was 
settled  at  home,  and  I  had  rendered  an  account 
of  my  stewardship,  I  would  leave  Meredith 
Place  forever.  I  would  not  say  that  I  had  left 
it  forever,  but  such  was  my  resolve.  I  would 
go  into  some  hospital  in  New  York  or  Philadel- 
phia where  I  could  receive  instruction  in  return 
for  my  services  ;  I  would  be  a  good  physician, 
an  honor  to  the  old  line  ;  while,  as  for  the  rest, 
heaven  knew! — life  appeared  stale  and  un- 
profitable enough. 

— JUtretobTed  as  I  stood  silently  by  Lillian's 
side.  I  had  not  been  alone  with  her  for  days 
and  weeks.  He  was  always  in  the  way.  To- 
day, however,  he  kept  his  distance.  Miss 
Miller  had  too  much  tact  to  allow  him  to  be 
too  suddenly  intruded  upon  the  notice  of  the 
long-absent  father. 

"  You  are  very  exclusive,  of  late,"  remarked 
my  cousin,  with  a  half  pout,  as  she  leaned  over 
the  gate,  looking  up  the  road,  and  not  at  me. 
"  You  are  not  my  old  Joe  any  more." 

What  a  fool  I  was  to  be  pleased  with  these 
words!  When  Arthur  Miller  was  away,  she 
could  find  leisure  to  coquet  with  me !  I  de- 
spised myself  for  the  thrill  of  pleasure  which 
ran  through  me,  and  fighting  it  down,  answer- 
ed quietly — 

"I've  been  very  busy.  When  the  Doctor  is 
safely  home,  I  expect  to  take  my  departure, 
and  I  have  my  preparations  to  complete." 

"  Cousin  Joe,  are  you  going  away  ?"  she  ask- 
ed quickly,  turning  and  laying  her  rose-leaf 
hand  on  my  arm. 

I  thought  she  looked  grieved,  that  the  tears 
sprang  to  her  eyes,  and  I  never  could  bear  the 
way  she  had  of  saying  "Cousin  Joe,"  with- 
out losing  all  resentment,  so  I  answered  much 
less  bitterly  than  I  had  felt  a  moment  pre- 
vious— 

"  I  must  go.  This  is  no  longer  home  to  me. 
I  must  work,  and  I  must  go  where  work  is  to 
be  found." 

' '  But,  Cousin  Joe — ' ' 

Then  the  rattle  of  the  wheels  was  heard,  and 
Lillian  sprang  outside  the  gate,  forgetful  of  all ; 
a  cloud  of  dust  rose  up  into  the  pink  and  white 
blossoms  which  made  one  long  bower  of  the 
country  road ;  the  galloping  horses  came  into 
sight,  and  the  driver,  with  a  style  and  flourish 
meant  to  do  honor  to  his  passenger,  and  to 
Meredith  Place,  drew  up  before  the  entrance. 

I  saw  the  Doctor  leap  out,  and  turn  to  assist 
a  young  lady  who  had  sat  by  his  side ;  but 
Lillian  had  seen  nothing  saving  her  father's 
dear  face,  and  she  clung  to  him  so  fondly,  with 


I  tears  and  laughter,  that  he  had  finally  to  dis- 
engage her  loving  arms. 

"Lily,  my  child,  here  is  another  who  needs 
a  welcome  home.  Call  her  Inez,  or  mother,  or 
Mrs.  Meredith  —  what  you  please  —  only  be 
friends  with  her,  for  my  sake." 

"Father  !  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

My  cousin  turned,  for  the  first  time  observ- 
ing the  one  who  stood  there,  a  girl  not  much 
older  than  herself,  small,  slight,  with  a  rich, 
dark  complexion,  purpre-black  hair,  and  eyes 
of  dark  and  lustrous  splendor,  of  which  we 
had  but  a  glimpse  before  the  lids  fell  and  the 
lip  began  to  quiver.  A  timid,  confiding,  affec- 
tionate creature,  one  could  guess  from  the  first. 

"She  is  my  wife,"  added  the  Doctor,  not 
without  a  slight  embarrassment ;  "I  will  tell 
you  all  at  the  first  opportunity,  Lillian.  In  the 
meantime,  she  is  weary  with  her  long  journey, 
and  needs  your  kindness." 

A  moment  more  my  cousin  hesitated;  the 
struggle  was  written  on  her  face  ;  but  some- 
thing in  the  trembling  lip  and  downcast  eyes 
of  the  stranger,  overbore  her  surprise  and 
pain;  she  flung  her  arms  about  her  father's 
wife,  as  she  had  about  him,  and  kissed  her. 

Dr.  Meredith  smiled  on  the  two,  children 
together.  Then  he  found  time  to  recognize 
and  greet  me,  which  he  did  with  a  cordiality 
of  a  kinsman  in  heart. 

"You  are  tired,"  said  Lillian,  keeping  her 
arm  about  Mrs.  Meredith's  waist ;  "we  will  go 
in  at  once.  You  shall  drink  a  cup  of  tea  be- 
fore you  go  to  your  room." 

"Aye,"  said  the  Doctor,  preceding  us  to  the 
old  mansion,  looking  its  best  now,  in  its  May 
dress  of  roses,  "  tea  for  the  weary !  But,  where 
is  our  dear  Miss  Miller  ?  She  has  had  experi- 
ence ;  she  .will  know  what  to  do  for  my  wife." 

"  Here  I  am,  Dr.  Meredith,  at  your  service," 
answered  the  governess,  stepping  in  from  the 
side  door,  opening  on  to  the  porch,  from  which, 
doubtless,  she  had  witnessed  the  scene  at  the 
gate. 

She  shook  hands  with  him,  smilingly,  and 
touched  the  little  fingers  of  Mrs.  Meredith.  A 
change  had  passed  over  her  face  since  I  scru- 
tinized it  on  the  porch.  I  could  perceive 
the  rouge  on  her  cheeks  now,  for  all  natural 
color  had  forsaken  them.  She  compelled  her 
voice  from  trembling,  but  it  sounded  hard  and 
cold  ;  her  eyes  glittered  like  steel ;  I  did  not 
care  to  meet  them,  after  the  first  glance,  and 
she  avoided  looking  at  me.  She  was  conscious 
that  I  understood  her  humiliation. 

She  wore  the  velvet  dress  and  brilliants  to 
dinner,  over  which  she  presided  with  her  usual 
majesty,  having  been  requested  to  do  so  by  Mrs. 
Meredith,  who  pleaded  fatigue  to  excuse  her 


21 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


timidity  at  too  soon  assuming  her  wifely 
honors. 

When  dinner  was  over  Miss  Miller  made  the 
excuse  of  a  severe  headache  to  retire  to  her 
room  for  the  evening. 

It  was  not  until  his  wife  also  was  asleep  in 
her  chamber  that  he  told  Lillian  and  me  the 
brief  story  of  his  courtship  and  marriage. 

A  few  weeks  before  he  sailed  he  was  called  to 
attend  a  Cuban  gentleman  very  ill  of  fever  at 
one  of  the  hotels  of  San  Francisco.  He  was 
afraid,  from  the  first,  that  his  patient  would 
die,  but  did  everything  in  his  power  to  save 
him,  even  to  giving  him  almost  constant  per- 
sonal attendance.  Won  by  this  kindness,  the 
gentleman,  when  he  knew  that  he  must  die, 
confided  to  the  Doctor  something  of  his  circum- 
stances, expressing  his  anguish  at  leaving  his 
daughter  alone,  without  money,  in  that  reck- 
less, frightful  city.  He  had  been  a  merchant  in 
Havana,  and  had  lost  his  whole  property  in  an 
unwise  commercial  adventure,  and  driven  alike 
by  despair  and  mortification,  had  taken  his 
only  child  and  sailed  for  the  land  of  gold,  ex- 
pecting there  to  retrieve  his  ruined  fortunes. 
Instead,  he  was  stricken  with  illness,  and  about 
to  die. 

"  Promise  me  you  will  be  as  good  a  friend  to 
her  as  you  have  been  to  me,"  cried  the  dying 
man. 

"  I  do  promise  you  ; — so  far  as  I  can  prevent, 
by  my  friendship  and  assistance,  no  harm  shall 
befall  her.  'I  will  care  for  her  as  if  she  were 
my  own  child." 

The  Cuban  gentleman  died  in  peace,  and  the 
Doctor  was  left  with  this  pretty,  clinging, 
weeping  girl,  looking  to  him  as  her  only  friend. 
He  could  have  taken  her  to  Havana,  on  his 
homeward  way,  and  restored  her  to  her  rela- 
tives, but  Inez  declared,  with  many  tears,  that 
those  relatives  had  not  treated  her  properly  at 
the  time  of  her  father's  misfortunes.  To  get 
rid  of  his  embarrassing  burden  by  marrying 
her  soon  occurred  to  the  perplexed  doctor.  It 
was  a  man's  way  of  getting  out  of  the  di- 
lemma. 

I  will  do  my  uncle  the  justice  to  say  that  I 
believe  he  made  Inez  his  wife  more  out  of  re- 
gard for  her  welfare  than  from  the  desire  to 
appropriate  her  youth  and  beauty  to  himself. 
He  believed  she  would  be  a  pleasant  compan- 
ion for  Lillian,  and  that  he  could  care  for  her 
so  as  to  make  her  contented.  That  he  ever 
felt  for  her  anything  beyond  an  admiration  for 
her  pretty  ways,  I  do  not  think.  She  could  not 
assume  the  place  once  held  by  Lillian's  mother. 

To  see  the  two  young  creatures  together,  each 
heightening  the  other's  beauty  by  contrast,  was 
a  treat.    The  second  day  had  not  passed  before 


they  were  like  sisters.  The  Doctor's  grave  face 
would  lighten,  as  he  looked  at  them,  "  putting 
their  heads  together;"  banded  with  jet  and 
waving  with  gold. 

On  the  second  evening  Arthur  Miller  ven- 
tured to  call.  The  report  that  the  old  Doctor 
had  brought  home  a  young  bride,  had  flown 
through  the  vicinity  ;  he  had  heard  it  before  he 
came,  I  knew.  My  uncle  was  friendly  to  him, 
as  Miss  Miller's  brother ;  but  took  no  fancy 
to  him — instead,  told  me,  next  day,  carelessly, 
that  he  did  not  like  the  young  man  as  well  as 
his  sister. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  I  said,  with  more  emphasis 
than  I  intended,  "  but  Lillian  holds  a  different 
opinion,  and  it  was  this  I  was  thinking  of, 
when  I  wrote  you,  last  winter.  Miss  Miller  is 
ambitious,  and  would  favor  the  idea  of  a  union 
with  your  family." 

"  Ah,"  looking  perplexedly  at  me  with  those 
bright  eyes  of  his,  which  always  could  see  every- 
thing but  what  was  directly  before  them— I 
must  take  notice — I  must  take  notice  !  But, 
don't  judge  Miss  Miller,  my  boy.  She  is  a 
most  excellent  lady,  and  has  done  much  for  my 
Lillian." 

,  We  were  standing  inside  his  laboratory,  near 
the  door,  when  this  was  said.  I  heard  the 
rustle  of  silk  a  moment  later,  and  opening  the 
door  and  stepping  into  the  hall  I  saw  Miss 
Miller  passing  rapidly  along  to  disappear  in  her 
own  room. 

A  few  days  later  Miss  Miller  announced  her 
determination  of  leaving— her  young  lady  was 
"  finished"  as  far  as  she  could  finish  her — she 
returned  her  charge  to  her  father's  hands,  along 
with  the  keys  of  the  house  and  all  the  other 
responsibilities  she  had  assumed.  My  uncle 
and  cousin  both  warmly  urged  her  never  to 
leave  the  Place,  but  to  remain  with  them  al- 
ways, an  honored  member  of  the  family." 

"  There  is  enough  for  all.  You,  who  helped 
to  carry  us  through  the  dark  days,  ought  to 
remain  to  share  our  prosperity,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor heartily. 

He  little  understood  the  scornful  smile  which 
wreathed  her  mouth  in  answer.  She  began  to 
make  her  arrangements  to  depart ;  not  very 
hastily,  for,  since  neither  the  man  himself,  nor 
artless  Lillian,  suspected  the  change  which  had 
clouded  over  her  sky,  she  could  take  her  time 
to  settle  up  her  small  affairs,  without  any  dis- 
paragement of  her  dignity.  I  could  see  that 
Inez  was  glad  she  was  going. 

Her  brother  continued  his  visits  ;  he  told  us 
that  he  liked  Hampton  ;  was  getting  into  busi- 
ness, and  had  no  wish  to  leave  it. 

He  was  determined  to  secure  the  prize  for 
which  he  had  come ;  his  sister  was  disappointed, 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


25 


but  there  should  be  better  luck  for  himself.  So 
I  construed  his  thoughts. 

I,  too,  was  getting  ready  to  leave  Meredith 
Place.  My  uncle  had  remonstrated,  but  I  had 
urged  the  necessity  of  attending  lectures  in  the 
city,  and  he  had  finally  consented,  but  forcing 
upon  me  the  means  for  supporting  myself,  while 
doing  this. 

"You'll  make  a  doctor  equal  to  any  of  the 
Merediths  yet,  my  boy  !"  he  said,  when  he  had 
examined  me  as  to  my  progress  during  his 
absence. 

Thus  affairs  stood  at  the  moment  when  a 
dark  night  of  catastrophe  shut  all  of  the  light 
suddenly  from  Meredith  Place. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

TWO  HOLES  IN  A  HANDKERCHIEF. 

I  was  curious  to  know  if  Miss  Miller  had  rec- 
ognized the  person  who  so  unexpectedly  con- 
fronted her  in  the  arbor  ;  while  it  half  mad- 
dened me  to  realize  that  she  would  have 
opportunity  to  return  and  examine  the  place, 
while  I,  in  my  enforced  concealment,  could  do 
nothing.  Doubtless  she  had  returned,  after 
her  first  fright  was  calmed,  and  the  household 
had  subsided  into  rest,  and  finished  the  work 
which  I  had  begun.  If  truly  there  had  been 
something  under  that  last  stone  -if  the  iron- 
bound  box  had  been  the  object  against  which 
my  pick-axe  had  struck — I  might  resign  myseK 
to  the  disastrous  fact  that  Miss  Miller  had  won 
in  the  game  ;  for  she  certainly  would  go  back 
and  discover  the  treasure,  and  dispose  of  it  to 
suit  herself,  before  the  morning. 

Whether,  having  found  the  box,  she  would 
deliver  it  to  its  rightful  owners,  or  whether,  be- 
ing concerned  in  its  disappearance,  she  would 
only  secure  its  farther  concealment,  I  could  not 
decide. 

I  was  too  much  excited  to  sleep,  while  I  felt 
that  my  brain  demanded  rest  from  the  constant 
strain  upon  it  of  conflicting  thoughts  and  the- 
ories. Morning  came  slowly.  Gram' me  Hook- 
er was  an  early  riser,  and  when  I  heard  her 
moving  about  in  the  room  below,  I  was  glad 
to  go  down. 

"You  haven't  slept,  Doctor  Joe,"  she  re- 
marked, after  scanning  me  for  a  moment  with 
her  bright,  old  eyes.  "If  you  don't  take  keer 
of  yourself  you'll  be  down  sick." 

"  "Well,  what  then?  who  cares?" 

"  I  thought  you  was  jest  for  working.  How 
kin  you  spy  about  and  keep  watch  over  them 
unprotected  lambs,  if  you  lay  yourself  up  in 
bed  with  brain  fever  V ' 

"  True,  gram'me  ;  I  thank  you  for  reminding 
me  of  it.  After  breakfast,  if  you  will  make 
some  excuse  to  visit  the  mansion  and  hear  the 


news,  I  promise  you  I  will  try  to  sleep  while 
you  are  gone.  Miss  Miller  had  a  fright  last 
night ;  find  out  what  the  servants  have  to  say 
about  it.  And  pray,  see  Lillian  if  you  can, 
dear  gram'me,  and  tell  me  how  she  looks — if 
she  is  well ! — how  she  feels ! — and  if  Arthur 
Miller  spent  last  evening  there.  Can  yOu  re- 
member all  that  V ' 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head  with  a  mean 
ing  smile. 

"I  want  to  know,  myself,  how  Miss  Lillian 
fares,"  she  said,  "and  I'll  be  hoppin'  mad  if  I 
l'arn  that  that  young  man  is  hangin'  about  her 
yet, — for  I  don't  like  him  any  better' n  you  do, 
Doctor  Joe.  Yes,  yes,  yes,  my  feet  ain't  so 
spry  as  they  used  to  be,  but  my  head's  quick 
enough  yet.  If  there's  any  thin'  goin'  on  to  the 
house,  trust  me  to  find  it  out,  Doctor  Joe.  And 
do  you  jest  stop  frettin',  and  take  a  good  sleep 
while  I'm  out,  for  I  shall  likely  be  gone  some 
time." 

I  gave  her  some  money  to  buy  such  food  as 
was  necessary  now  that  she  had  a  boarder,  and 
as  soon  as  the  few  dishes  were  put  away,  she 
took  her  basket  and  crutch,  hobbling  away  on 
her  various  errands.  As  she  expected  to  visit 
the  village  as  well  as  Meredith  Place,  I  knew 
that  it  must  be  several  hours  before  her  return, 
and  endeavored  to  keep  my  promise  about 
sleeping,  by  crawling  back  to  my  garret-bed, 
shutting  my  eyes,  and  beginning  to  count,  over 
and  over,  up  to  a  hundred  and  down  again. 
The  discipline  proved  effectual,  so  that,  after  a 
time,  I  slept.  I  was  awakened  from  this  slum 
ber  by  a  murmur  of  voices  in  the  room  below. 
Fortunately,  I  was  sufficiently  master  of  my 
perilous  position  as  soon  as  I  awoke,  to  remem- 
ber the  necessity  for  keeping  quiet.  At  first 
I  supposed  Gram'me  Hooker  had  returned 
and  some  acquaintances  had  stopped  in  passing. 
But,  after  a  few  moments,  not  hearing  her 
piping  treble,  and  believing  that  I  recognized 
the  voices,  curiosity  overcame  prudence.  I 
moved,  on  my  hands  and  knees,  as  softly  as 
possible  over  the  loose  boards  which  formed 
the  floor  of  the  garret ;  but,  despite  my  caution, 
a  board  rattled,  and  the  conversation  below 
instantly  ceased.  "Rats!"  spoke  some  one, 
with  a  little  nervous  laugh,  after  a  moment's 
silence.  I  was  right — the  speaker  was  Miss 
Miller.  The  murmur  began  again  ;  I  pressed 
my  ear  to  the  floor,  but  I  could  distinguish 
nothing  of  what  was  said ;  I  soon,  however, 
made  out  the  other  voice  to  be  that  of  her 
brother  Arthur.  The  blood  was  rushing  and 
throbbing  in  my  ears,  but  I  compelled  my 
pulses  to  quiet  that  I  might  hear  what  was 
being  said.  The  plastered  ceiling  beneath  me 
effectually  prevented  any  consecutive  words 


26 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


from  reaching  my  ear ;  feeling  assured  these 
arch  conspirators  were  plotting  the  still  greater 
misery  of  my  cousin  Lillian, — that  they  were 
uttering  in  secret  council,  matters  of  over- 
whelming importance  to  me  and  mine,  I  was 
yet  constrained  by  that  small  barrier  from 
hearing  what  was  said !  As  soon  as  I  dared  I 
crept  forward  to  the  narrow  closed  passage 
which  led  down,  by  a  few  steep  stairs,  to  the 
apartment  beneath.  I  knew  that  the  door  at 
its  foot  was  closed,  and  I  made  my  way  down, 
and  stooping,  peered  through  the  small  aper- 
ture through  which  the  old-fashioned  latch 
passed.  I  saw  the  brother  and  sister,  he,  sitting 
in  a  chair  by  the  table ;  she,  standing  before 
him.  She  was  growing  angry,  I  could  tell  by 
the  red  spot  on  her  cheek,  and  by  her  raised 
voice. 

"  You  are  a  greater  fool  than  I  took  you  to 
be,  Arthur  Miller,"  were  the  first  words  I  made 
out.  "I  knew  you  were  a  coward,  but  I  did 
not  give  you  credit  for  being  a  ninny,  too." 

"Gently,  gently,  my  sweet  sister,"  he  an- 
swered, meeting  her  fiery  glance  with  one  of 
his  mocking  smiles. 

I  could  see  only  her  profile  as  she  stood  be- 
tween me  and  the  open  door,  but  I  saw  her 
mouth  tremble  with  scorn  and  rage,  and  her 
black  brows  lower. 

"  You  played  for  the  stakes,  and  lost,"  con- 
tinued the  brother,  sneeringly ;  "why  should 
you  be  sc  severe  upon  me,  who  also  have  had 
the  misfortune  to  lose  V ' 

"  But  you  have  not  lost !  All  is  still  in  your 
own  hands.  What  I  am  angry  with  you  for,  is 
for  giving  up,  when  we  are  so  near  success." 

"A  fellow's  neck  is  about  the  most  precious 
trifle  in  his  possession.  He  would,  naturally, 
like  to  keep  that  whole,  even  though  his  heart 
be  broken.  When  the  chestnuts  are  too  hot, 
one  must  drop  them.  That  poor  dog  of  a  cousin 
of  hers  is  in  a  happy  condition,  isn't  he  ? — ex- 
cuse me  from  wishing  to  burn  my  mouth  like 
that." 

"Coward!"  she  said  again. 

"Oh,  well,  sis;  I  leave  it  all  to  you.  You 
have  courage  enough  for  both.  More  courage 
than  discretion,  /  think.  To  tell  you  the  plain 
truth,  I  think  you've  hurried  this  matter  too 
much.  Why  couldn't  you  let  well  enough 
alone  ?" 

"  Arthur,  you  will -never  understand  me !  As 
if  I  could  have  lived — as  if  I  could  have  lived" — 
she  uttered  vehemently,  then  checked  herself. 

"  Never  mind  the  past,"  she  added  in  a  mo- 
ment ;  "what  we  have  now  to  do  is  to  consider 
the  future.  We  must  be  prepared  for  any  emer- 
gency which  may  arise.  We  must  be  cool,  and 
above  all,  courageous,  and  must  be  united  in  I 


action.  Everything  depends  upon  our  acting 
in  concert." 

"  By-the-bye,"  said  the  young  man,  still 
smiling  up  into  his  sister's  excited  face,  "if 
you  had  not  such  a  grudge  against  her,  I  believe 
I  should  prefer  the  step-mother  to  the  daughter. 
She's  a  beauty,  that  Spanish  girl  is,  and  has  a 
soul  of  fire.  Such  eyes ! — I  dreamed  of  them 
last  night.  4  0,  saw  ye  not  fair  Inez,  she's  gone 
into  the  West,  To  dazzle  when  the  sun  is  down, 
and  rob  the  world  of  rest.'  She's  my  ideal  of 
feminine  charms.  I  don't  wonder  the  old  Doc- 
tor capitulated,  besieged  by  arrows  from  such 
eyes.  Bad  for  you,  sis,  but  what  might  have 
been  expected !" 

"  How  dare  you !"  cried  Miss  Miller,  lifting 
her  hand.  "Arthur,  you  must  be  careful!  I 
have  done  a  great  deal  for  you — supported  you 
— educated  you — given  you  all  you  have.  I 
have  endeavored  to  take  you  into  an  equal  part- 
nership in  this  business,— but  you  must  beware ! 
Never  speak  of  that  woman  to  me.  I  will  not 
bear  it !" 

"Oh-h-h!  I  must  be  discreet,"  laughed  her 
companion,  his  eyes  falling  before  the  blaze  of 
her  own  fierce  orbs.  "Don't  look  at  me  that 
way,  sis,  or  I  shall  be  anxiously  inquiring  if 
there  is  any  more  prussic-acid  about. ' ' 

He  laughed  at  his  own  cold-blooded  jest ;  as 
for  me,  I  should  have  sprung  out  upon  him  in 
fury,  to  think  that  he  could  refer  in  this  reck- 
less manner,  to  the  tragedy  which  had  desolated 
Meredith  Place,  but  was  withheld  by  an  intense 
curiosity  to  note  the  effect  on  Miss  Miller. 

Her  upraised  hand  sank  to  her  side  ;  instead 
of  blazing  out  into  new  anger,  she  spoke  more 
calmly  than  she  had  yet  done — 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Arthur?" 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  was  the  half-sullen  reply. 
"  So  it  was  not  the  box,  after  all?"  he  added, 
changing  the  subject. 

' '  No.  We  were  mistaken  from  the  beginning. 
But  I  shall  begin  again, — I  have  the  key.  All 
I  want  is  time.  I  wish  I  knew,  certainly,  who 
it  was  in  the  arbor,  last  night.  I  could  have 
sworn  it  was  he.  This  much  is  certain — some 
one  is  on  the  track  beside  ourselves.  We  must 
be  a  thousand  times  more  cautious  than  before. 
I  hope,  and  shall  believe,  that  it  was  only 
some  one  who  saw  me  visit  the  place,  and  who 
thought  he  would  examine  for  himself.  I  don't 
feel  easy  about  one  thing,  Arthur  : — I  am  afraid 
that  I  walk  in  my  sleep,  as  I  once  had  a  habit 
of  doing,  you  remember.  I  have  not  done  so 
for  many  years ;  but  several  times,  recently,  I 
have  found  my  night-dress,  in  the  morning, 
wet  with  dew  and  soiled  with  sand  and  earth, 
as  if  I  had  wandered  about  in  it  out-of-doors. 
It  was  so  yesterday  morning.   I  may  do  strange 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


29 


things  while  in  this  somnambulic  state,  and 
may  be  watched  by  others.  I  feel  the  danger 
so  great  that  I  am  like  a  person  walking  on  ice 
so  thin  that  it  may  break  at  any  moment,  and 
let  him  down.  I  have  persuaded  Lillian  to 
sleep  in  my  bed,  for  the  present,  on  the  front 
side ;  so  that  if  I  rise  I  shall  disturb  her,  for 
she  is  a  light  sleeper.  She  has  promised  to  waken 
me  if  she  finds  me  somnambulizing.  I  wish  I 
knew  who  that  person  was,  in  the  arbor,  last 
night." 

She  glanced  about  her,  with  a  startled  air,  as 
she  made  the  last  remark,  like  one,  who,  hav- 
ing received  a  great  fright,  is  still  nervous  and 
expectant  of  another  shock.  For  an  instant 
her  eyes  rested  on  the  latch,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  she  was  gazing  directly  at  me.  If  I  had 
obeyed  the  impulse  which  seized  me  I  should 
have  thrown  open  the  door  and  announced  my- 
self as  the  person  about  whom  she  was  so 
anxious, — but  ever  arose  before  me,  in  these 
imprudent  moments  of  excitement,  Lillian's 
face  imploring  me  to  remember  her  wrongs  and 
not  to  foolishly  peril  her  future  welfare. 

"I've  not  so  much  confidence  in  your  powers, 
sis,  as  I  had  once,"  began  the  young  man,  with 
a  weary  yawn.  "I've  half  a  mind  to  throw 
up  the  whole  matter,  and  return  immediately 
to  New  York.  I've  trifled  away  a  good  deal 
of  time  already.  Perhaps  I  might  have  made 
it  pay  better.  I  expected  some  substantial  re- 
. suits  this  morning." 

"  You  are  too  impatient.  Rome  was  not 
built  in  a  day." 

"  I  think  I'll  return  to  my  legitimate  sphere. ' ' 

"Then  you  give  up  Lillian  Meredith  en- 
tirely?" 

He  laughed  again. — 1  Cela  depend'  he  said, 
lightly. 

' '  I  understand.  But  here  comes  mother 
Hooker.  Good  morning,  gram' me.  You  seem 
alarmed  at  finding  your  cottage  taken  posses- 
sion of,  in  your  absence.  I  was  walking  in  the 
wood  with  my  brother.  Miss  Lillian  made  mo 
promise  that,  if  I  came  near  your  house,  I 
would  stop  and  inquire  how  you  were.  Find- 
ing you  gone,  as  I  was  tired,  we  sat  down  to 
rest  ourselves,  thinking  you  would  soon  be  in. 
How  is  your  rheumatism,  this  morning  ?" 

' 1  Easy  as  an  old  shoe.  Tell  Miss  Lily  her 
strawberry -pie  was  drefful  nice,  and  I'm  much 
obleeged.  I've  been  to  the  house  myself,  but 
I  didn't  see  her,  as  she  wasn't  down, — and  I 
went  on  to  the  village  for  a  leetle  sugar  and 
tea  and  a  bit  of  smokin'  tobacky.  She  gives 
me  money  for  that,  reg'lar,  Miss  Lily  does, 
though  she  can't  abide  the  smell  of  it  herself, 
bless  her  kind  heart !  "—rattling  on  with  what- 
ever came  into  her  head  to  say,  while  she 


darted  furtive  glances  about  the  place  to  assure 
herself  all  was  right. 

I  had  to  make  a  sudden  retreat  up  the  stairs 
when  she  hobbled  directly  to  the  door,  at  which 
I  was  playing  the  ignoble  part  of  eaves-drop- 
per, pretending  that  she  wished  to  hang  her 
hood  and  shawl  inside.  She  saw  me  in  my 
retreat,  received  my  signal  that  all  was  right, 
closed  the  door  again  and  began  a  gracious 
conversation  with  Miss  Miller,  to  whom,  usually, 
she  said  as  little  as  possible. 

"  And  is  this  the  young  gentleman  as  they  say 
is  engaged  to  Miss  Lily?"  I  heard  her  ask, 
presently.  "  It's  a  blessed  thing  the  poor  child 
has  a  friend  that  can  comfort  her,  and  can  sup- 
port her,  too,  now  that  her  property  is  all  gone. 
She  won't  have  a  roof  to  cover  her  head  many 
days  longer,  an'  it  seems  like  a  stroke  of  Pro- 
vidence that  she  should  be  provided  for  before- 
hand, don't  it,  now  ?" 

I  leaned  eagerly  down  to  hear  the  reply,  but  a 
laugh  from  Arthur  and  a  cough  from  his  sister 
was  all  I  heard.  I  knew  that  gram' me  was 
playing  a  hypocritical  part,  for  my  benefit ;  it 
would  have  gone  sorely  against  her  inclinations 
to  see  Lillian  mated  with  any  one  but  me  ;  but 
she  guessed  that  I  was  wild  with  the  desire  to 
know  if  an  actual  engagement  existed,  and 
was  trying  to  enlighten  me.  Her  little  ruse 
failed,  and  soon  I  heard  the  two  bidding  her 
good  morning  and  going  away. 

"  They're  out  o'  sight  now  ;  but  I'll  jis-t  shet 
and  lock  the  door  and  pull  down  the  curtain 
before  you  come  down,"  she  called,  opening 
the  stair-case  door.  - '  We  shall  smother,  this 
warm  day.  Besides,  some  one  might  listen  at 
our  heyhole,  as  I  did  at  this.  Better  leave  the 
door  wide,  and  keep  a  sentinel  at  the  post,"  1 
responded,  coming  down.  "  Well,  gram' me, 
what's  the  news  ?" 

"  Do  you  know,  my  heart  was  in  my  mouth 
when  I  heard  talking  and  saw  them  two  in 
here  ?  I  trembled  so,  I  thought  I  should  have 
to  set  down  on  the  step.  What  are  they  about  ? 
Some  mischief,  I'll  warrant !  Did  you  hear 
anythin'  they  said,  Doctor  Joe?" 

"Yes,  a  good  deal.  Nothing  satisfactory, 
however.  Just  enough  to  convince  me  that  I 
am  not  all  wrong  in  my  suspicions." 

"  Your  face  is  as  red  as  fire." 

"  I'm  excited",'gram'me.  Besides,  I  had  to 
stoop  over,  to  look  through  the  latch-hole. 
They  said  so  much,  it  made  me  eager  to  hear 
more.  But,  what  about  my  cousin?  and  Mrs. 
Meredith  ?  and  what  is  the  news  ?" 

"  I  can't  never  call  her  Mrs.  Meredith,"  said 
the  old  woman,  shaking  her  head.  ' '  That 
babyish  little  thing  couldn' t  never  take  her  place . 
She's  sick  this  morning,  they  say — cried  herself 


30 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


into  a  fit  o'  sickness.  Miss  Lily,  she's  a  waitin* 
on  her,  so  I  didn't  speak  with  her  myself. 
There  never  was  nothin'  more  surprisin'  than 
the  way  Miss  Lily  holds  out.  I  'spected  she'd 
be  the  fust  to  break  down.  It's  beautiful  to 
see  how  bravely  she  bears  her  trouble,  as  sweet 
and  patient  as  if  her  heart  wasn't  completely 
broke. ' ' 

"  Don't,  don't,"  I  said,  the  tears  rushing  inte- 
rn y  eyes.  "  Oh,  gram'me,  it  is  too  cruel  that  I 
am  driven  from  her  side  at  a  time  like  this.  I 
don't  mind  her  suspecting  me,  hating  me  ; — I 
only  feel  so  sorry  that  I  can  not  help  her  bear 
her  misfortunes.  I  tell  you  truly,  gram'me,  if 
I  believed  Arthur  Miller  was  true  and  noble, 
that  he  really  loved  her,  and  not  the  money  he 
expected  she  would  have — that  he  would  step 
to  her  side  like  a  man,  care  for  her,  provide  for 
her,  love  her,  marry  her,  I  could  joyfully  see 
her  his  wife.  All  I  desire  is  her  happiness.  But 
I  distrust  that  man.  Now  that  she  is  poor,  he 
will  forsake  her.  After  winning  her  affections 
by  the  most  devoted  attentions,  you  will  see, 
he  will  leave  her  in  the  hour  of  her  sorrow. 
He  spoke  of  returning  to  New  York." 

"  Thank  goodness,  let  him  go  ;  you  ought  to 
be  happy,  Doctor  Joe,  to  get  rid  of  him." 

"But  Lillian — she  loves  him — she  will  be 
so  wretched !" 

"If  he  goes,  he  won't  deserve  her,  an'  it 
will  be  better  for  her  to  be  mis 'able  for  a  time, 
than  for  all  her  life.    Mebbe  he  won't  go." 

"  What  did  the  servants  say  about  the  fright 
last  night  ?' ' 

' 1  Oh,  they  said  the  Governess  saw  a  ghost. 
They  say  she  was  dreffully  scared.  It  was  in 
the  arbor  ;  but  when  the  men  went  to  look  they 
couldn't  see  nothin'.  They  asked  her  if  it  was 
his  sperit  she  saw ;  she  wouldn't  tell,  but  they 
knew  it  was  Dr.  Meredith's  ghost  as  couldn't 
rest  in  his  grave  on  account  of  his  bein'  mur- 
dered. Cook  says  she  wouldn't  go  into  that 
garden  at  night  for  all  the  world, — nor  one  o' 
them  servants  wouldn't  do  it — not  even  Mike." 

"All  the  better  for  me,"  I  thought.  "If 
they  are  all  frightened  away,  I  shall  have  the 
field  to  myself." 

After  the  humble  dinner,  prepared  by  gram'- 
me, she  took  her  knitting  and  sat  in  the 
door,  talking  constantly,  for  her  own  amuse- 
ment apparently,  as  she  was  neither  hurt  nor 
disconcerted  by  my  silence.  I  heard  no  more 
of  what  she  said  than  of  the  murmur  of  the 
stream  that  ran  beneath  the  window ;  being 
intensely  occupied  with  my  own  thoughts  ;  and 
these  were  not  satisfactory,  for  they  brought 
me  to  no  conclusion.  I  had,  before  the  visit  of 
those  two  to  the  cottage,  arrived  at  a  belief ; 
but  their  conversation,  instead  of  strengthen- 


ing it,  had  thrown  me  back  into  doubt  and  | 

confusion. 

I  took  from  the  breast-pocket  of  my  coat  a  I 
handkerchief,  which,  I  held  in  my  hand  and  I 
examined  for  the  ten  thousandth  time,  to  re- 
assure myself.  It  was  a  lady's  handkerchief, 
a  bit  of  hem-stitched  cambric,  smelling  of 
patchouly, — at  that  time  a  new  and  favorite 
perfume, — which  I  had  picked  up  from  the  floor 
of  the  laboratory  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day 
of  Dr.  Meredith's  death.  It  lay  underneath  a 
tier  of  shelves  along  one  of  which  were  arranged  ! 
bottles  containing  various  highly  concentrated 
acids,  ahd  two  or  three  labeled  "poison." 
In  the  cambric  two  small  holes .  were  burned, 
where  a  drop  of  acid  had  fallen.  In  one'eorner 
of  the  handkerchief  was  written  the  name  of 
its  owner — Annie  Miller. 

I  had  confided  to  no  one  the  fact  of  my  having 
found  this  handkerchief.  I  had  heard,  without 
change  of  countenance,  Miss  Miller  and  the 
servants  inquiring  for  it,  as  if  it  were  an  article 
of  some  value.  I  knew  that  a  dollar  would 
buy  a  better  one,  yet  I  did  not  wonder  that  its 
owner  felt  troubled  at  its  loss,  and  was  trying 
to  hunt  it  up. 

I  now  stared  at  this  handkerchief,  mentally 
comparing  the  theory  which  I  had  adduced 
from  it  with  the  facts  of  the  -conversation 
I  had  overheard.     They  did  not  agree  as  I 
wished  to  have  them.   My  theory  had  been 
that  Miss  Miller,  aided  and  abetted  by  her 
brother,  had  first  robbed  Dr.  Meredith  of  his 
gold,  and  then  poisoned  him.    I  believed  that,  , 
taking  advantage  of  his  friendship,  she  had  j 
chosen  the  occasion  of  her  approaching  depar-  ( 
ture  to  ask  him,  playfully,  to  drink  her  health 
in  parting,  and  had  killed  him  while  she  smiled  , 
upon  him. 

My  enmity  to  this  woman  gave  me  no  excuse 
for  accusing  her  of  this  horrible  treachery  and  ( 
crime.    I  blamed  myself  for  the  conviction 
which  had  fastened  upon  me  ;  and  when  I  could  [ 
not  shake  it  off,  I  invented  excuses  for  her,  ^ 
which  should  palliate  her  crime  in  my  mind.  ^ 
I  said  to  myself  :  "  She  did  not  murder  him  for 
his  money  ;  that  would  be  too  cold-blooded.  , 
Miss  Miller  is  not  cold-blooded — not  avaricious.  1 
She  is  ambitious  ;  she  loves  money  because  it 
confers  power — and  she  loved  the  man  she 
murdered.    She  killed  him  in  a  fierce  paroxysm 
of  jealousy.    The  shock  which  her  pride  anc 
passion  both  received  when  he  brought  home 
his  girl-wife  affected  her  brain — rendered  her 
in  a  measure,  insane, — and  she  committed  th:  J 
deed,  urged  by  a  wild  frenzy  of  love  for  hin 
and  hate  for  her!"    It  was  not  quite  so  com  j 
mon,  in  those  days,  as  it  now  is,  for  judge  anc 
jury  to  throw  the  vail  of  "insanity"  ove:  ; 


THE  FIGU 

every  form  of  wickedness  ;  but  I,  greatly  as  I 
had  disliked  Lillian's  governess  for  the  manner 
in  which  she  had  ignored  me  and  my  claims, 
misconstrued  my  motives,  and  constituted  her- 
self a  spy  upon  my  actions,  could  not  bring 
myself  to  believe  her  guilty  of  this  hideous  sin, 
except  under  the  impulse  of  a  brain  suddenly 
thrown  from  its  balance. 

Miss  Miller  was  one  of  those  women  born  to 
be  a ' '  queen  of  society. ' '  Poverty  had  deprived 
her  of  her  empire,  but  the  spirit  of  a  ruler 
still  was  there,  and  I  could  understand  and  pity 
the  crushing  disappointment  which  must  have 
been  hers,  when,  after  years  of  patient  endur- 
ance, in  the  very  flush  and  glow  of  anticipated 
triumph,  she  had  found  herself  discrowned  by  a 
simple,  clinging,  timid  girl.  I  could  imagine 
the  scorn  with  which  she  criticized  the  little 
Cuban  wife — the  hatred  with  which  she  viewed' 
her  pretty  airs  of  fondness  for  a  man  whom  she 
could  no  more  appreciate  than  a  fire-fly  could 
measure  a  star. 

I  could  picture  her  desperation  at  being 
driven  out  into  the  world  to  commence  anew 
her  dreary  career  as  governess,  after  believing 
herself  the  mistress  of  Dr.  Meredith's  heart  and 
home  ;  and  I  could  believe,  that,  urged  by  all 
this  passion  and  fury  of  humiliation,  disap- 
pointment, despair,  and  anger, — she  had  com- 
mitted, in  a  wild  hour  of  temptation,  a  -deed 
for  which  a  life  of  remorse  must  be  the  return. 

I  had  believed  this  ;  and  farther,  that  her 
brother  had  suggested  the  previous  robbery,  in 
which  she  had  acquiesced,  not  only  to  gratify 
him,  but  to  complete  her  revenge  upon  the 
young  wife,  by  leaving  her  helpless  and  pen- 
niless, without  friends  or  relatives,  a  stranger 
in  a  strange  land,  in  absolute  poverty,  and  with 
no  resources  by  which  she  could  help  herself. 

As  for  Arthur  Miller,  there  was  no  reserva- 
tion in  my  condemnation  of  him,  and  yet  I  did 
not  believe  that  he  was  a  party  to  the  murder. 
He  was  too  cowardly  for  that.  Nothing  so 
bold  and  decisive  ever  was  accomplished  by 
him.  No ;  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
death  of  Dr.  Meredith ;  but  I  had  firmly  be- 
lieved that  the  box  of  gold  was  in  his  possession, 
or  concealed  where  he  knew  of  it. 

Now,  as  I  pondered  the  conversation  I  had 
overheard,  I  felt  that  neither  of  them  had  any 
certain  knowledge  of  the  lost  treasure.  Miss 
Miller  had  boasted  of  a  key  ;  but  it  was  evident 
that  they,  like  myself,  were  vainly  searching 
for  the  missing  box.  Neither  did  there  appear 
to  be  any  hint  of  the  awful  guilt  which  I  atr 
tributed  to  her,  in  Miss  Miller's  words,— nor  in 
her  brother's,  save  in  that  brutal  jest  about  the 
prussic-acid. 

Thus,  the  more  I  pondered  the  less  certain  I 


RE  EIGHT.  31 

became  of  all  my  previous  impressions ;  only 
by  staring  at  the  two  holes  burned  in  the  hand- 
kerchief could  I  retain  my  suspicion  of  Miss 
Miller. 

CHAPTER  VH. 

TWO   GLEAMS   OF  LIGHT. 

A  week  passed,  during  which  I  was  shut,  by 
day,  in  my  voluntary  prison,  and  by  night 
roamed  restlessly  in  the  vicinity  of  Meredith 
Place, — a  long,  intolerable  week, — for  I  made 
no  progress  in  my  investigations,  while  my  con- 
finement to  the  cottage,  without  books  or  other 
society  than  gram' me' s,  was  extremely  irksome. 

The  only  thing  which  relieved  the  monotony 
of  these  days,  was  gram' me' s  visits  to  the  man- 
sion and  the  village,  from  which  she  would 
return  with  such  gossip  as  she  could  glean. 

One  day  it  was  that  Lillian  was  engaged  to 
Arthur  Miller,  and  that  he  was  urging  her  to  a 
speedy  marriage,  saying  that  her  friends  would 
overlook  haste  in  consideration  of  the  need 
which  beset  her  of  a  home  and  protector. 
Another  :  it  was  reported  that  I  had  been  seen 
and  arrested  by  the  police,  in  Philadelphia  or 
Baltimore,  and  was  to  be  brought  back  to 
Hampton  the  following  day.  Again  :  Lillian 
had  refused  Arthur  Miller,  and  had  declared  her 
intention  of  opening  a  small  school,  so  soon  as 
she  felt  herself  able  to  resume  any  regular  du- 
ties. Still  again  :  that  a  ghost  haunted  the 
woods  of  Meredith  Place,  and  more  especially 
the  garden.  It  was  said  to  be  the  spirit  of  the 
Doctor,  wandering  about  in  search  of  the  lost 
treasure.  Now,  it  was  said  I  had  gone  to  Europe 
to  spend  my  ill-gotten  fortune ;  then,  that  I 
was  hiding  in  New  York ;  but  never  that  I  was 
in  the  vicinity  of  Hampton. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  Gram' me  Hooker  came 
in,  crying,  from  a  visit  to  the  house. 

"  To-morrow's  the  day  of  the  sale,"  she  said, 
in  explanation. 

"What  will  Lillian  do?"  I  cried,  wringing 
my  hands  together,  as  I  walked  up  and  down 
the  narrow  room  like  a  caged  panther.  "Ok, 
how  cruel  it  is  that  her  only  relative,  her  best 
friend,  can  not  help  her  in  this  emergency  !  I 
am  tied,  hand  and  foot.  "Worse !  she  regards 
me  as  her  enemy, — as  a  brute,  a  monster !" 

"No,  no,"  interposed  gram' me,  "she  don't, 
Doctor  Joe.  I  never  heard  her  speak  ill  o'  you. 
They  try  to  make  her,  but  she  won't." 

"Oh,  if  I  dared  to  see  her,  gram'me !  Do 
you  think  it  would  be  imprudent  to  bring  her 
here  to  see  me  ?  I  could  tell  her  how  I  mean 
to  work  for  her  and  Inez,  as  soon  as  I  can  get 
away  to  a  place  of  safety  ! — how  I  only  remain 
here  in  the  hope  of  discovering  the  gold  of 
which  she  has  been  robbed,  that  I  may  have 


32 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


the  happiness  of  restoring  it  to  her ! — that  I 
mil  find  out  the  meaning  of  her  father's  mes- 
sage !  or,  if  I  fail,  then  I  am  ready  to  earn  a 
living,  somewhere,  away  from  my  enemies, — for 
her,  if  she  needs  it ;  or,  if  Arthur  Miller  has 
already  provided  for  her  future,  then,  for  poor 
Inez."  I  spoke  with  rapid  passionateness ;  but 
gram 'me  shook  her  head. 

' '  I  shan't  risk  it,  Doctor  Joe.  If  they  should 
get  hold  o'  you,  they  wouldn't  show  you  a  hit 
o'  mercy.  The  more  folks  talks  and  goes  on, 
the  more  excited  they  gits.  A  lynchin'  is  the 
least  you  may  expect,  if  it  gits  out  you're  any- 
where around.  I  tremble  night  an'  day,  at 
every  sound.  You  must  be  keerful ; — an'  if 
you'll  take  my  advice,  you'll  quit  these  parts 
this  very  night." 

"  Not  I !  Not  until  I  have  done  all  that  can 
be  done  at  present.  If  they  discover  me  they 
can  only  hang  me.  That  will  hurt  them  worse 
than  it  will  me.  How  I  despise  that  selfish 
vagabond  !"  I  was  thinking  of  Arthur  Miller 
again.  ''Since  she  has  no  fortune,  he  leaves 
my  poor  darling  to  her  fate ! — and  she  loves 
him — I  know  she  loves  him!" — and  here  I 
forgot  my  panther  promenade,  and  dropped  into 
a  chair  to  dream  over  the  last  time  I  saw  them 
together,  alone,  standing  at  the  gate  in  the  rosy 
light  of  sunset,  her  face  upturned  to  his  with  a 
smile, — it  was  the  evening  before  the  tragedy, 
— and  he  had  taken  her  little  hand  from  the 
head  of  the  stone  lion,  and  pressed  it,  while  I 
had  shut  my  eyes  and  stumbled  blindly  into 
the  hall. 

"I  have  gained  nothing  at  all  by  hanging 
about  the  grounds, ' '  I  resumed,  when  the  vision 
passed  away  ;  "to-night  I  shall  enter  the  house ; 
I  want  to  examine  the  library  once  more." 

"Oh,  don't!"  cried  gram'me,  too  overcome 
at  my  audacity  to  say  more. 

1 '  But  I  must.  You  know  Tiger  does  not 
bark  at  me  ;  and  I  know  every  door  and  win- 
dow so  thoroughly.  Besides,"  with  a  smile, 
"if  I  should  encounter  any  one,  I  can  assume 
my  character  as  ghost. ' ' 

"  If  they  should  find  you,  poking  about  where 
you  didn't  belong,  it  would  be  evidence  against 
you,  don't  you  see  !" 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see!  But  I  am  resolved  upon 
the  risk.  You  need  not  keep  one  eye  open  for 
me  to-night.    I  shall  take  care  of  myself. ' ' 

I  went  out,  shortly  after  dark.  As  far  as  I 
could  ascertain  from  Gram'me  Hooker's  unsatis- 
factory reports,  it  was  not  decided  what  Inez 
and  Lillian  would  do  after  the  place  was 
sold  over  their  heads.  Miss  Miller  had  kindly 
remained  with  them,  much  to  her  own  incon- 
venience (!)  thus  far,  but  she  was  to  go,  the 
day  after  the  sale.    Arthur  still  was  practicing 


law  in  Hampton,  and  swearing  every  day,  with 
a  laughing  oath,  that  he  would  like  no  better 
case  with  which  to  advance  his  legal  career  then 
the  defense  of  a  scoundrel  like  Joe  Meredith. 
If  Joe  was  ever  arrested  he  should  at  once  offer 
himself  as  his  counsel !  Fearing  that  Lillian 
might  go  away  with  Miss  Miller,  or  something 
occur  by  which  I  should  not  see  her  for  a  long 
time,  I  went  out  early  with  the  hope  of  catch- 
ing a  glimpse  of  her  face  or  form  if  I  hung 
around  the  shrubberies  and  porches  of  the 
old  house. 

This  the  intense  darkness  made  it  easy  for 
me  to  do.  There  was  no  moon,  and  the  stars 
were  hidden  by  sultry  clouds  which  hung  low, 
promising  rain.  As  familiar  as  the  wood  had 
grown  to  me,  at  this  time,  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  I  stumbled  through  it,  and  came,  by  an 
open  field,  into  the  grounds  which  more  nearly 
surrounded  the  old  stone  mansion.  There  were 
lights  in  the  parlor,  and  I  ventured,  after  re- 
connoitering  for  a  time,  to  approach  a  window, 
and  look  through  a  curtain  of  honeysuckle, 
directly  into  the  room.  The  first  person  I  saw 
was  Inez,  Mrs.  Meredith,  lolling  back  in  an 
easy-chair,  her  black  garments  falling  about  her 
slight  form  in  heavy  folds,  as  her  black  hair  fell 
about  her  pale  face  ;  her  eye-lashes  rested  on  her 
cheeks  as  if  she  slept,  and  the  hands  dropped 
listlessly  upon  her  knee  did  not  stir.  Like  a 
child,  she  had  wept  herself  to  sleep.  Presently 
I  became  aware  that  Lillian  and  Miss  Miller  were 
walking  up  and  down  the  long  room ;  the 
governess  had  her  arm  about  her  pupil's  waist, 
who  was  listening  to  her  with  a  look  which  I 
could  not  translate,  but  it  seemed  to  me,  of 
wonder  and  incredulity. 

' '  Have  you  never  had  any  reason  to  think 
that  Inez,  herself,  in  a  freak  of  jealousy  or 
anger — these  Spaniards  are  so  passionate,  and 
so  unprincipled — ' '  spoke  Miss  Miller  in  a  low 
voice,  as  both  paused  close  by  the  window  at 
which  I  stood. 

"Oh,  impossible.  You  do  not  know  how 
she  loved  him, — so  grateful !  so  fond  of  poor 
papa  ;  and  she  did  not  know  the  use  of  such 
things — don't  you  see  ?" 

"She  is  ignorant  enough,  if  that  be  all," 
sneered  the  governess.  Forget  what  I  have 
said,  Lillian.  You  know  we  are  all  under  a 
cloud,  liable  to  suspicion — even  me,  or  you,  or  any 
one.    I  meant  nothing  in  particular." 

Lillian  made  no  response,  and  they  moved  on  ; 
when  they  returned  Miss  Miller  was  saying — 
"  He  loves  you,  ardently,  but  you  are  both  too 
poor  to  marry  now.  My  brother  has  his  way 
to  make,  and  dare  not  venture  further  responsi- 
bility until — ' ' 

"Thank  God  for  that!"  I  breathed,  as  the 


THE  FIGURL 


two  again  passed  from  hearing.  It  was  like  a 
reprieve  to  a  condemned  man.  I  had  not  heard 
my  cousin's  reply,  nor  seen  the  expression  of 
her  face  ;  I  knew  not  hut  that  she  might  be 
unhappy  and  disappointed,  but  for  me,  it  was 
joy  to  feel  that  she  was  not  too  quickly  to 
become  the  wife  of  that  man  whom  I  detested. 
I  forgot  that  I  had  said  that  for  her  sake  I  wished 
she  might  be  happily  married. 

I  felt  my  face  flame  up  at  the  touch  of  the  night- 
wind  as  I  recalled  Miss  Miller's  attempt  to  still 
further  injure  and  destroy  poor  Inez,  by  creat- 
ing a  cruel  suspicion  of  her  in  the  heart  of  her 
only  friend.  This  seemed  the  most  malignant 
thing  I  had  known  of  all  her  conduct — only  that 
still-bitter  jealousy  could  in  the  least  excuse  i* 
for  I  felt  that  the  governess  did  not  belie^ 
own  words* 

"If  she  is  so  wicked  as  that,  T  1 
son  to  spare  her,"  I  thought 
make  the  most  of  the  slig1 
keeping. 

Presently  Mrs.  Meredit* 
and  a  little  cry.  Iilli? 
kissed  her  ;  there  was  • 
three  talked  together, 
bedroom  candles,  to< 
the  door  my  cousin  3 
about  the  room — at 
the  piano,  the  orn 
well-worn  carpet 

"  Ah,  to-mor 
stranger !  To-: 
home,  Inez  !  T 
Tdo.    I  was  \ 
mother  died 
choked  her,  1 

4 'If  there 
my  vows,  I 
appointed  t 
yours,  cous 
whom  I  fir 
not. 

I  wand 
secure  in 
one,  the  J 
could  teE 
Inez  had 
spark,  wl 
casern  eDt 
the  wine 
supposed 


ngu- 
paper, 
ber  of  a 
previously 
article,  I  h 
It  gavf 
approach]' 
the  night 
tied  in  t 
errand,  1 
that  nigh 
me.  Ind 
than  I  en 
flashes 


URE  EIGHT. 


,<st — a 
uiding- 
3rediths, 
the  house, 
But  the 
othing  of 
;.r  she  set 
in  a  rest- 
he  black 
e  had  so 
him.  All 
nan's  lot. 
u  which 
->rous 


not  allow  me  to  rest  so  1  /ng  as  there  was  the 
faintest  hope  that  her  patrimony  could  he  re- 
stored to  her.  However,  that  night,  I  felt  no 
longer  any  desire  to  enter  the  house.  I  might 
have  done  so  by  climbing  the  back  porch  and 
entering  by  an  upper  window  which  stood  wide 
open ;  but  I  was  so  subdued  by  the  misery  I 
had  witnessed  that  I  had  not  spirit  left  for  the  § 
enterprise. 

By  this  time,  the  thunder-storm  which  had  ~ 
been  gathering  for  hours  in  the  sultry  air,  was 
ready  for  active  operations.   The  first  scattering 
outriders  of  the  rain  came  galloping  on ;  the 
flash  and  roar  of  artillery  was  seen  and  heard 
in  the  distance.    This  war  of  the  elements  just 
-suited  me  ;  fevered  and  excited  as  I  was  I  rather 
"d  the  threatened  drenching,  and  I  walked 
'own  the  gravel  path  beside  the  man- 
-~  arching  silently  by  my  side.  The 
in  my  confidence  than  any 
always  was  with  me  in  my 
assuring  me  of  his  sym- 
'  touch  of  his  nose  against 


ter  than  eleven  o'clock 
aboratory  transpired, 
until  the  light  dis- 
in  the  upper  hall, 


could  not  endure 
*oker's  garret,  I 
ching  presently 
ed  foot-passen- 
'ghtning  show- 
standing,  one 
ately  stepped 
^hes  reached 
g  me,  made 
for  another 
*.  were. 

a  pretty 
.e  vicinity; 
"  spirits" 
ite  hours, 
is  a  voice 
low  mur 
?  Iilliai 
1  to  him 
the  gate  | 
•  that  h 
ling,  an< 
,  or  pre 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


35 


necessity,  there  came  a  succession  of  tremulous 
gleams,  one  melting  into  another,  making  a 
hrief  day  of  that  midnight  darkness.  Every 
leaf  and  rain-drop  grew  distinct.  I  saw  the 
handsome,  insincere  face  of  Arthur  Miller,  look- 
ing curiously  pale  or  green  in  the  livid  light, — 
and  I  saw  another  face  upturned  to  his*  smiling, 
flushed,  with  parted  lips  glowing  as  if  they  had 
just  heen  kissed— a  fair  face— a  young  face- 
hut  not  Lillian's  : — I  almost  wished  that  it  was ! 

' '  You  are  getting  wet — you  will  take  cold. 
Good-bye  for  to-night,  I  will  see  you  again 
soon — to-morrow — every  day!  How  delicious 
the  roses  are  to-night, — or  is  it  your  breath  ? 
who  can  tell  ?  Take  care  of  yourself,  and  again 
— good  night." 

"  Adieu,  sefior  ;  pleasant  dreams." 

The  next  moment  the  black  folds  of  her 
mourning  garments  touched  me  as  she  went  by. 

"Ah,  you  bad  dog,  you  surprise  me,"  she 
cried,  under  her  breath,  as  her  hand  came  in 
contact  with  Tiger's  damp  coat,  who  trotted 
away  by  her  side. 

Yes,  there  could  be  no  mistake  !  The  woman 
who  met  Arthur  Miller,  alone,  and  at  an  un- 
seasonable hour,  was  Inez,  the  widow  of  a 
month ;  for  whose  sad  fate  as  orphan,  exile, 
and  widow,  hundreds  of  eyes  daily  grew  dim 
with  sympathy.  If  I  had  seen  a  sweet  babe  rise 
from  its  cradle,  with  all  the  passions  and  dis- 
figurements of  mature  life  suddenly  stamped 
upon  its  face,  I  should  not  have  been  more 
astonished. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

IN    A    NEW  CHARACTER. 


In  our  quiet  village  there  was  little  specula- 
tion in  real  estate ;  the  crowd  in  attendance  at 
the  sale  of  Meredith  Place  was  large,  but  the 
bidding  was  tame,  and  the  old  homestead  was 
finally  bought  in  by  the  creditor  who  held  the 
largest  claims  against  the  estate,  at  a  sum  much 
below  its  value.  He  took  the  property  because 
he  got  it  for  two-thirds  its  worth  ;  but  he  would 
gladly  sell  it  at  the  first  fair  offer,  and,  in  the 
meantime,  felt  something  as  if  he  had  an  ele- 
^  iphant  on  his  hands.  All  the  well-to-do  peo- 
"^jple  of  Hampton  had  places  of  their  own;  no 
"t| strangers  were  coming  in,  just  then,  and  the 
-^poorer  class,  who  rented  houses,  did  not  wish 
so  expensive  an  establishment.  The  new  owner 
decided  to  advertise  it  in  the  New  York  papers 
is  for  rent  for  the  remainder  of  the  summer,  or 
or  sale  as  a  country-seat.  He  did  so ;  but 
dndly  insisted  upon  Mrs.  and  Miss  Meredith 
emaining  untilthe  place  was  let. ,  This  they 
vere  glad  to  do,  as  their  plans  were  not  yet 
ully  arranged. 
It  was  Lillian's  intention  to  open  a  private 


school.  She  had  reserved  her  piano  from  the 
sale,  that  she  might  be  able  to  give  lessons  on 
it.  Inez  was  to  give  instruction  in  vocal  music 
and  on  the  guitar. 

They  were  looking  about  for  a  suitable  house; 
one  small  enough  to  match  their  purses,  yet 
with  a  room  which  could  be  spared  to  the  pro- 
spective pupils.  Lillian  went  about  with  a  sub- 
scription paper  securing  the  names  of  her  pupils. 
I  heard  all  this  through  Gram' me  Hooker,  and 
was  obliged  to  submit  to  it.  Lillian  soliciting 
pupils !  I  should  as  soon  think  of  two  hum- 
ming-birds settling  themselves  to  teaching,  as 
of  her  and  Inez  bound  down  to  onerous  duties. 
Yet  I  gave  Lillian  credit  for  real  strength  of 
character  and  for  unusual  intelligence.  I  knew 
that  she  acted  from  a  sense  of  duty ;  that  no 
hero  ever  displayed  more  bravery  than  she  in 
the  manner  in  which  she  had  borne  the  events 
of  this  terrible  summer. 

Miss  Miller  had  returned  to  the  city ;  her 
brother  continued,  for  the  present,  the  practice 
of  the  law  in  Hampton, — at  least  his  "shingle " 
hung  over  his  office-door,  and  he  sat  within  and 
smoked  choice  cigars. 

I  should  have  been  away — had  designed  to 
be,  ere  this, — away  in  some  Western  city,  where, 
under  an  assumed  name,  I  hoped  to  earn  money 
by  honest  toil,  which  I  could  send  to  my  cousin. 
I  sometimes  smiled  when  I  thought  of  her  as  a 
teacher,  consoling  myself  with  the  thought  that 
her  experience  would  be  brief,  for,  my  life  was 
devoted  to  her !  I  should  not  work  without 
returns  ;  and  all  that  I  had  should  be  hers.  I 
would  find  means  to  convey  it  to  her. 

In  the  meantime  I  made  the  best  use  I  could 
of  my  enforced  idleness,  by  frequent  intrusions 
into  the  library,  from  whence  I  supplied  myself 
with  books,  which  served  both  to  increase  my 
stock  of  knowledge  and  to  fill  up  the  wearisome 
pauses  in  the  play  of  life. 

I  could  not  always  have  escaped  unnoticed 
from  these  marauding  expeditions,  for  the 
most  absurd  stories  circulated  in  the  vicinity 
concerning  the  ghost  which  haunted  the  garden 
and  the  house,  at  Meredith  Place.  This  restless 
spirit  was  thought  to  prefer  the  arbor  and  the 
library  as  its  haunting-places.  It  was  no  delu- 
sion of  the  ignorant ; — intelligent  people  had 
laid  in  wait  for  it,  and  seen  it.  It  visited,  most 
frequently,  the  scene  of  the  murder.  Books 
had  been  placed  in  certain  positions,  and  mark- 
ed ;  and  had  been  found,  in  the  morning,  to 
have  been  displaced,  sometimes  actually  dis- 
appearing. These  were  sure  to  be  the  Doctor's 
favorite  authors.  Hence,  some  formed  the 
theory  that  disembodied  spirits  are  not  above 
the  use  of  material  means  for  their  intellectual 
amusement  or  improvement. 


30 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


All  this  impressed  upon  me  the  necessity  for 
being  more  cautious  in  my  movements.  By 
this  time  active  search  for  me  had  ceased.  The 
police  of  the  various  cities  had  a  written  de- 
scription of  my  person  and  habits,  and  were 
instructed,  generally,  to  be  on  the  look-out  for 
as  heartless  a  scoundrel  and  bold  a  criminal  as 
ever  eluded  their  arts. 

What  I  wondered  at  was,  that  the  two  girls, 
— for  what  more  than  a  child  was  Inez  ? — should 
have  the  courage  to  remain  in  that  lonely  place, 
after  Miss  Miller  was  gone,  and  all  the  servants 
dismissed  but  one  elderly  woman,  who  had 
served  the  first  Mrs.  Meredith,  and  who  would 
not  desert  her  daughter,  if  she  worked  without 
other  reward  than  love.  It  was  a  small  house- 
hold to  fill  so  large  a  place  ;  but  courage  was  one 
of  the  new  virtues  which  Lillian  was  developing. 

"  What  should  we  fear  ?"  she  asked  Gram' me 
Hooker,  when  spoken  to  on  the  subject ;  "every 
one  knows  that  we  have  scarcely  money  enough 
to  buy  our  daily  bread, — so  we  shall  not  be 
troubled  by  robbers.  As  to  the  ghosts,  gram'me, 
I  tell  you,  truly,  if  I  thought  my  dear  father 
still  visited  the  place  which  was  so  dear  to  him 
while  he  lived,  it  would  only  add  another  and 
deeper  charm  to  it.  I  was  not  afraid  of  him  in 
life,  why  should  I  be  in  death?" — then  she 
burst  into  tears  ;  and  gram'me  wept  in  telling 
me  of  it. 

They  were  not  entirely  without  friends,  these 
two  lonely  children :  people  who  had  long 
known  and  respected  Dr.  Meredith  were  anxious 
to  manifest  sympathy  to  his  family ;  but  the 
young  folks  of  the  village  did  not  feel  at  liberty 
to  intrude  their  gay  company  upon  the  mourn- 
ers, so  that  Arthur  Miller  was  almost  the  only 
young  gentleman  who  visited  at  Meredith  Place. 
He  spent  nearly  every  evening  of  the  week 
there ;  so  that  it  came  to  be  a  settled  belief 
that  he  and  Lillian  were  engaged. 

But  I  have  not  told  why  it  was  that  I  still 
lingered  and  skulked  about  this  spot,  instead 
of  making  a  bold  effort  for  liberty  and  work. 
I  was  engaged  in  a  study  so  absorbing  as,  for 
the  time  being,  to  leave  me  no  choice  of  action. 
Others  might  not  have  judged  Mrs.  Meredith 
so  severely,  but  to  me  there  wag  something 
appalling  in  the  fact  that  she  had  already  en- 
gaged in  a  flirtation  with  a  young  gentleman. 
Since  that  night  of  the  thunder-storm  I  had 
asked  myself  many  painful  questions  as  to  the 
imprudence  of  my  uncle  marrying  this  young 
stranger,  and  bringing  her  into  his  family. 
He  was  a  man  most  easily  imposed  upon  by 
any  one  who  had  a  fair  face  or  an  innocent 
look, — he  revered  women — as  well  he  might 
have  done  had  they  all  been  like  Lillian's 
mother  —  and  did  not  look  for  duplicity  or 


baseness  in  them.  Spanish  women,  as  a  rule, 
were  not  notoriously  good ;  this  pretty  Cuban 
girl  had  never  been  trained,  in  all  probability, 
to  the  practice  of  those  high  and  stern  prin- 
ciples of  honor  and  right  which  were  regarded 
as  the  natural  heritage  of  my  countrywomen. 

I  soon  satisfied  myself  that  Arthur  Miller's 
visits  were  for  Inez,  not  for  Lillian  ;  it  was  by 
her  side  he  sat ;  to  her  he  read  ;  to  her  he 
brought  flowers ;   her  music  that  he  turned, 
when,  occasionally,  she  would  sing  one  or  two 
Spanish  songs.    Lillian  must  be  aware  of  his 
desertion  : — was  it  adding  the  last  drop  to  her 
overflowing  trouble  ?   I  could  not  decide.  She 
was  always  so  sad,  so  quiet  in  the  dignity  of 
her  sorrow,  that  even  I,  who  knew  her  so  well, 
could  not  tell  how  much  notice  she  took  of  the 
little  drama  being  played  in  her  presence. 
Sometimes  the  whole  three  came  to  Gram'me 
Hooker's  cottage,  in  the  course  of  an  afternoon 
stroll — Lillian  always  sad,  patient,  waiting  on 
the  movement  of  the  others, — Arthur  gallant, 
gay,  Inez  leaning  on  his  arm,  turning  her  great 
black  eyes  to  his,  calling  upon  him  for  a  hun- 
dred little  attentions.    I  could  see  them  from 
my  hiding-place.    Inez'  manner  was  that  of  a 
petulant,  spoiled  child.    I  could  not  make  up 
my  mind  that  there  was  anything  bad  in  her. 
She  seemed  to  me  impulsive,  selfish,  fond, 
timid,  accustomed  to  self-indulgence.    I  be- 
lieved that  her  imprudent  and  heartless  con-  j 
duct  was  the  result  of  untrained  feelings  always 
allowed  to  run  riot.  She  found  grief  wearisome, 
solitude  oppressive,  and  threw  off  both  to  bask  in 
that  sunshine  of  gay  society  which  her  shallow 
nature  craved.    Ah  !  what  a  pity  that  Dr.  Mer- 
edith had  "fcaken  this  butterfly  to  his  bosom,  , 
who  could  flaunt  her  airy  wings  as  brightly  as  , 
ever  before  a  single  flower  could  spring  on  his  ( 
grave ! — what  a  pity  that  my  cousin  should  be  j 
condemned  to  such  companionship !     I  saw  j 
then  that  it  might  have  been  better  for  her,  , 
and  for  all  concerned,  if  my  uncle  had  married  j 
that  other  woman  who  had  loved  him  with  a  t 
passion  which  mocked  the  foolish  fondness  of  , 
this  young  thing,  and  who  would  have  been  a  , 
counselor  and  support  to  Lillian  in  this  crisis 
of  her  experience.  , 

About  the  first  of  August,  a  gentleman  came  [ 
out  from  the  city  to  look  at  Meredith  Place ;  | 
was  delighted  with  it,  and  at  once  engaged  it  t 
until  the  first  of  November.  I  did  not  know,  [ 
until  his  family  arrived,  that  Miss  Miller  was  a 
member  of  it.  She  had  gone  to  Mr.  Chateau-  h 
briand's  as  a  governess  immediately  upon  leav-  y 
ing  Hampton  ;  and  it  was  she  who  induced  that  t 
gentleman  to  look  at  Meredith  Place  when  her  \ 
physicians  ordered  his  wife  away  from  the  5 
sea-air. 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


37 


Whether  Miss  Miller  wished  to  be  near  her 
brother,  or  to  look  after  the  welfare  of  her  for- 
mer pupil,  or  whether  she  had  interests  of  her 
own  to  serve,  no  one  save  herself  knew.  Here 
she  was ;  and  here  was  the  old  mansion,  so 
gloomy  and  silent,  so  overshadowed  by  a  dark 
tragedy,  suddenly  transformed  into  a  scene  of 
incessant  gayety,  life,  and  festivity.  My  poor 
Lily  was  driven  forth  into  the  world.  Quite 
ready  to  go,  she  declared  herself  anxious  to 
!  begin  her  career  as  a  day  laborer.  Mrs.  Cha- 
teaubriand, who  knew  her  history  from  Miss 
Miller,  and  who  was  wealthy  enough  to  gratify 
all  her  pretty  fancies  of  tl  '&  kind,  insisted  that 
neither  Lillian  nor  Inez  snould  stir  from  under 
that  roof  as  long  as  her  family  remained  ;  she 
would  be  only  too  glad  to  have  them  for  vis- 
itors, in  that  secluded  village,— the  house  had 
many  vacant  rooms,  and  they  must  help  to  fill 
it ;— all  this  so  prettily  and  urgently  said,  that 
Inez  was  delighted,  and  wished  to  accept  the 
offered  hospitality.  When  Lillian  positively, 
but  most  gratefully,  declined,—"  Let  me  stay, 
then,"  pleaded  Inez  ;  "you  know  I  can  never 
earn  my  own  living." 

"  Then  I  will  earn  it  for  you — for  both  of  us, 
dear  Inez,"  said  Lillian.  And  her  companion 
yielded,  as  usual,  to  the  stronger  will,  though 
not  without  petulance  and  a  full  complement 
of  tears. 

A  kind  neighbor  assisted  Miss  Meredith  to 
move  her  few  household  goods  and  gods  to  the 
small  dwelling  just  out  of  the  main  street  of 
Hampton,  where  she  was  to  set  up  her  new 
Lares  and  Penates.    She  was  not  to  open  school 
until  the  middle  of  September,  so  that  she  had 
ample  time  to  arrange  her  tiny  household,  and 
1   to  look  over  her  old  school-books  with  a  view 
!   to  some  practical  use  of  the  knowledge  she  had 
J   gained  from  them.    Urged  by  me,  Gram'me 
'   Hooker  made  her  almost  daily  visits ;  if  they 
i   were  tedious  inflictions,  my  cousin  may  now  set 
1  it  down  to  my  account ;  I  was  selfish — I  could 
*  not  live  without  some  hint  of  how  my  darling 
M  fared  from  day  to  day.     I  inferred  that  Inez 

I  was  a  great  drag  upon  Lillian,  instead  of  an 

I I  assistant ;  that  she  was  homesick,  wanted  to 
j  return  to  Cuba,  wanted  to  visit  Mrs.  Chateau- 

e  |  briand,  wanted  to  have  more  company,  to  go 
|  out  more, — everything,  in  short,  but  to  really 
it  make  herself  useful,  or  patiently  to  bear  the 
r,  hard  circumstances  which  had  come  upon  her. 
a  Meredith  Place  was  a  scene  of  long-continued 
I  gayety.  Although  its  present  mistress  was 
?•  something  of  an  invalid,  she  was  accustomed 
it  to  see  a  great  deal  of  company  ;  she  had  two 
9  beautiful  daughters,  of  an  age  to  go  into  society, 
ie  and  there  was  a  constant  coming  and  going  of 
friends  from  the  city.     Fashionably  -  dressed 


young  ladies  promenaded  the  prim  old  walks  ; 
foppish  gentlemen  made  bouquets  for  them  out 
of  the  old-fashioned  flowers— even  flowers  may 
be  in  and  out  of  style  !  Any  quantity  of  flirting 
was  going  on  in  the  arbor  ;  the  music  of  a  grand 
piano  shook  the  honeysuckles  at  the  windows  at 
all  hours  of  the  day  and  nearly  all  of  the  night  ; 
the  stables  were  full  of  horses  ;  glittering  car- 
riages dashed  about  the  drives  ;  silver  and  cut- 
glass  shone  in  the  dining-room  ;  the  novels  of 
the  day  lay  carelessly  on  the  very  table  where 
my  uncle,  in  dying,  had  left  that  illegible  scrawl. 

Little  room,  now,  for  ghosts  to  haunt  the 
old  place  !  The  laboratory  remained  the  least 
changed  of  any  of  the  rooms, — there  was  little  in 
it  to  interest  these  gay  idlers,  and  as  the  room 
was  not  required  for  other  purposes,  it  was 
allowed  to  stand  as  it  was  left, — the  retorts, 
the  crucibles,  the  furnace,  all  the  little  instru- 
ments and  chemicals,  idle  now,  with  the  dust 
gathering  over  them  from  week  to  week. 

In  the  midst  of  this  excitement  Miss  Miller 
led  a  secluded  life.  She  had  taken  her  place  in 
this  fashionable  family  simply  as  the  governess 
of  the  three  younger  children  ;  she  made  no 
attempt  to  gain  unusual  privileges ;  instead, 
she  shrank  from  having  her  accomplishments 
displayed  for  the  pleasure  or  amusement  of 
these  summer  idlers.  When  she  was  not  in  the 
school-room,  she  sat  in  her  chamber,  or  walked 
alone  through  the  garden  and  woods.  Many  an 
evening  I  saw  her  sit  for  hours,  immovable, 
her  head  leaning  against  the  casement  of  her 
window. 

Sometimes  her  brother  Arthur  called  to  see 
her.  He  was  always  welcomed  by  the  ladies  of 
the  house.  He  knew  how  to  make  himself  at- 
tractive ;  the  Misses  Chateaubriand,  like  all 
well-trained  flirts,  never  had  a  superabundance 
of  cavaliers, — "all  was  fish  which  came  to  their 
nets,"  in  the  way  cf  gentlemen  attendants, 
where  morning-parties  and  picnics,  as  well  as 
evening  gatherings,  were  the  order  of  the 
season.  A  young  man  like  this,  graceful,  self- 
possessed,  toned  down  by  the  amenities  of 
civilized  life  to  a  respectable  figure,  was  likely 
to  be  doubly  appreciated  in  the  country.  That 
his  sister  was  their  sister's  governess  made  no 
especial  difference  with  this  appreciation  on  the 
part  of  the  young  ladies,  since  the  young  gen- 
tleman was  "  only  for  the  summer,"  and  not  for 
"  all  time." 

I  had  a  good  view  of  the  elder  Miss  Chateau- 
briand a  few  days  after  her  arrival.  I  was 
perched  among  the  branches  of  a  hickory  tree, 
across  the  way  from  Gram'me  Hooker's  house. 
It  was  a  retired  place,  and  had  the  advan- 
tage of  being  more  airy  than  my  garret ;  I 
changed  to  it  for  variety,  and  many  had  been 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


the  hours  I  had  spent  in  that  "  leafy  and  mur- 
murous ' '  chamber.  As  I  say,  I  was  perched  in 
my  secluded  tower,  with  a  book  for  company, 
when  a  parly  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  came 
trooping  out  of  a  narrow  bridle-path  which 
they  had  followed,  idly,  to  find  whither  it 
would  lead.  They  were  in  high  spirits,  laugh- 
ing, singing,  and  jesting,  as  they  passed  along. 
I  thought  some  of  the  girls  very  pretty  as 
their  ponies  ambled  by,  but  when  Miss  Cha- 
teaubriand (as  I  heard  her  escort  address  her), 
brought  up  the  rear,  all  the  other  figures  and 
faces  seemed  tame  in  comparison  with  hers. 
She  was  one  of  those  women  who  look  well  on 
horseback ;  tall,  of  full  figure,  with  a  slender, 
supple  waist ;  her  black  velvet  riding  hat  and 
plume  contrasted  with  the  bright  gold  of  her! 
braided  hair  ;  her  eyes  were  a  very  dark  blue, 
looking  black  at  times  under  the  shelter  of 
lashes  and  brows  many  shades  darker  than  her 
hair.  She  was  undeniably  handsome,  yet  there 
was  more  in  her  superb  manners  and  witty 
conversation  than  in  her  beauty,  to  attract  and 
fascinate  her  companions.  All  this,  of  course, 
I  did  not  discover,  during  my  brief  observation 
as  she  passed  by ;  but  I,  like  others,  was  daz- 
zled at  the  first  glance. 

I  saw  what  gentleman  of  the  party  elected 
himself  her  escort,  kept-nearest  to  her  side,  bent 
oftenest  to  listen  or  to  speak.  It  was  Arthur 
Miller ;  nothing  less  could  be  expected  of  his 
time-serving  and  capricious  nature,  but  that  he 
should  be  in  the  suite  of  the  newest  beauty  and 
most  promising  heiress.  I  felt  at  once  that 
the  inmates  of  the  white  cottage  would  see  but 
little  of  him  the  remainder  of  the  summer. 

Here  let  me  remark  that  much  of  what  I  have 
to  relate  did  not  pass  in  my  presence,  and  was 
not  known  to  me  at  the  time  ;  many  things 
came  to  me  afterwards  in  the  course  of  explana- 
tions and  repetitions,  which  ensued  before  the 
drama  of  which  I  am  the  historian  reached  its 
denouement. 

The  village  talked  much  of  Miss  Chateau- 
briand's popularity  ;  her  less  brilliant  but  pretty 
sister,  Sophie,  was  also  well  liked  ;  soon  there 
was  gossip  about  Arthur  Miller,  in  connection 
with  them.  It  was  remarked  that  he  was  neg- 
lecting Lillian  Meredith,  and  that  it  was  not  to 
be  taken  for  granted  that  it  was  his  sister  who 
called  him  so  frequently  to  the  old  homestead. 

No  one  suspected  who  it  was  who  felt  most 
keenly  his  growing  neglect ;  that  is,  no  one 
save  I  and  perhaps  one  other.  Miss  Miller  had 
not  returned  to  Hampton  without  an  ob- 
ject. It  might  seem  natural  enough  that 
she  should  think  of  recommending  Mer- 
edith Place  to  her  employers ;  I  alone 
thought  it  singular  that  she  should  be  willing 


to  return  under  such  circumstances,  and  at  once 
set  myself  to  find  out  what  her  object  was.  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  she  was  watching  some 
one  ;  that  she,  too,  was  playing  the  part  of 
spy,  and  I  was  not  long  in  determining  that 
both  of  us  kept  in  view  the  same  person. 

Once  had  I  confronted  Miss  Miller,  as  several 
times  I  had  felt  urged  to  do,  I  should  have 
pointed  my  finger  at  her,  and  said  :  "  Thou  art 
the  woman  !  ' '  Now  I  was  divided  in  my  opin- 
ion, racked  by  contrary  theories,  absolutely 
laughed  at  by  conflicting  facts. 

About  the  first  of  October  the  Chateau- 
briands  gave  an  evening  entertainment  of  a 
more  pretentious  character  than  usual.  The 
house  was  filled  with  guests  from  the  city,  and 
all  their  acquaintances  in  and  about  Hampton 
were  invited.  There  was  to  be  dancing  in  the 
upper  hall,  with  music  by  the  two  colored  fid- 
dlers which  our  village  boasted.  Gram'me 
Hooker  told  me  that  the  housekeeper  had  in- 
quired of  her  where  she  could  engage  an  extra 
couple  of  waiters  whom  they  should  want  on 
the  evening  of  the  ball.  A  rash  desire  took 
possession  of  me.  I  was  so  completely  tired  of 
my  summer's  restrictions  that  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  must  have  a  change  of  some  kind.  I 
wanted  to  see  those  persons  together  whom  I 
had  watched  from  a  distance — to  have  them 
immediately  under  my  eye,  acting  in  concert 
and  unaware  of  my  vicinity.  I  resoLved  that  I 
would  go  to  the  ball.  I  felt  assured  that  1 
could  act  the  character  of  a  mulatto  waiter  and 
escape  recognition.  I  was  so  mad  to  go  that  I 
was  willing  to  incur  all  risks.  I  told  gram'me 
to  report  to  the  housekeeper  that  she  had  se- 
cured one  waiter,  who  would  be  promptly  at 
his  post  in  time  to  receive  her  instructions  on 
the  night  of  the  party. 

Sheep  strayed  at  pasture  in  the  woods  of  Mer- 
edith Place.  There  was  one  black  fellow  in  the 
flock,  and  I  think  I  may  take  to  myself  credit 
for  the  ingenuity  with  which  I  converted  a  por- 
tion of  his  fleece  into  a  wig,  and  a  mustache  of 
which  the  most  dandified  Adonis  of  the  colored 
race  need  not  have  been  ashamed.  Gram'me 
Hooker  lent  a  large  red  silk  handkerchief, 
which  I  metamorphosed  into  a  flaming  cravat ; 
the  walnut  trees  gave  the  wherewithal  to  dye 
my  skin  a  handsome  brown. 

When  I  dressed  myself  for  my  part  in  the 
evening's  drama,  I  did  not  smile  at  my  ridicu- 
lous figure  ;  I  never  felt  more  solemn,  more 
sad,  than  when  I  set  out  upon  my  adventure. 
This  was.no  farce,  but  an  awful  reality  in  which 
I  was  engaged.  I  might  pay  with  liberty  and 
life  for  my  hardihood  in  running  the  risk  of  de- 
tection, but  this  was  not  what  I  thought  of. 

I  was  to  see  Lillian  ;  to  have  the  sweet  priv- 


►THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


41 


ilege  of  watching  her,  hour  after  hour ;  of 
stealing  near  to  her  unaware.  I  should  hear 
her  voice,  meet  the  glance  of  her  eye,  her  sable 
garments  might  sweep  across  my  feet,  per- 
chance, for  I  should  certainly  put  myself  in  her 
way.  I  knew  that  she  would  attend  the  party, 
and  the  reason  why.  Inez  had  insisted  upon 
accepting  the  urgent  invitation  which  they  had 
personally  received.  Mrs.  Chateaubriand  herself 
had  come  to  them  and  said  that  they  need  not 
dance,  nor  sing,  nor  play,  nor  in  any  way  make 
themselves  prominent ;  but  she  would  love  to 
have  them  come  and  look  on  ;  they  should 
j  have  a  quiet  corner — it  would  do  them  good, 
etc. ,  etc.  Lillian  had  refused,  with  that  gentle 
firmness  which  was  one  of  her  most  admirable 
qualities  ;  but,  after  their  visitor  had  departed, 
Inez  had  burst  into  tears,  stamped  her  foot  on 
the  floor,  and  declared  that  she  would,  and 
Should,  and  must  go — she  could  not  endure 
this  sort  of  life  any  loDger.  Then  my  cousin, 
thinking  it  wiser  to  cover  the  imprudence  of 
her  father's  widow  by  keeping  her  company, 
consented  to  go  for  a  few  hours  if  Inez  would  be 
very  quiet  and  be  sure  to  refuse  all  attentions 
|  of  the  gentlemen.  Poor  Lily  !  she  already  had 
j  accepted  her  place  as  mentor  and  guardian  of 
one  who  should  have  been  her  adviser  and 
protector. 

As  I  was  reporting  myself  to  the  housekeeper, 
on  the  important  evening,  Miss  Miller  came 
into  the  dining-room  for  a  glass  of  water.  She 
wore  the  velvet  dress  which  she  had  had  pre- 
pared for  that  other  never-to-be-forgotten  occa- 
i  sion,  but  the  jewels  were  foregone,  except  a 
Ismail  brooch.  She  looked  pale,  almost  hag- 
gard, ten  years  older  than  on  that  April  day 
when  she  had  bloomed  into  a  second  girlhood 
in  anticipation  of  meeting  the  man  she  loved. 
I  think  she  was  ill  and  agitated  ;  her  hand 
trembled  as  she  took  the  glass,  which  I  has- 
tened to  hand  her  from  the  salver.  I  always 
did  things  audaciously,  by  bold  strokes  of  im- 
!  pulse.  I  was  willing  to  test  my  disguise  then 
|  and  there  ;  for  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  if 
I  her  sharp  eyes  did  not  detect  it  I  need  fear  no 
I  other.  She  did  start,  when,  on  returning  the 
glass,  she  looked  at  me  as  she  said,  "  thank 
iyou  !"  but  I  inferred  that  the  thought  or  sus- 
picion which  might  have  momentarily  occurred 
to  her  as  speedily  passed  away.  I  forgot  that 
others  might  be  as  subtle  as  myself,  or  have 
their  own  reasons  for  keeping  the  peace. 

Supper  was  not  to  be  served  until  eleven 
o'clock ;  but  I  had  opportunities  for  observa- 
tion. I  hung  about  the  halls  and  doors  after 
the  manner  of  colored  waiters  when  they  have 
nothing  else  to  do,  and  was  very  attentive  to 
the  wants  of  the  guests. 


I  saw  Lillian  sitting  by  a  table  in  the  parlor, 
turning  over  a  book  of  engravings.  Many 
came  and  spoke  with  her,  and  she  answered 
them  all  in  a  low  voice,  with  a  faint  smile,  and 
hardly  lifting  her  eyes.  I  knew  that  she  was 
trying  to  keep  from  crying.  What  a  young 
thing  she  was  to  be  so  desolate  !  Only  seven- 
teen, and  looking  so  childish  with  her  floating 
curls  and  fair  forehead.  How  heavy  and  un- 
natural was  that  black  dress  on  one  who  had 
always  worn  pink  and  blue  a*nd  white  !  My 
heart  throbbed  so  that  I  thought  the  people 
about  me  must  hear  it ;  and  I  went  away,  only 
to  come  back  again  and  gaze  as  before.  Inez 
stood  near,  her  cheeks  crimson  and  her  dark 
Southern  eyes  blazing  with  excitement.  I 
could  see  her  little  foot  patting  the  floor  to  the 
music  of  the  violins  ;  but  she  refused  the  few 
offers  which  were  made  her  to  be  taken  to  the 
ball-room.  The  larger  part  of  the  company 
were  up-stairs  ;  she  grew  restless  as  she  found 
her  companions  deserting  her. 

"  I  promised  you  not  to  dance,"  she  said, 
when  they  were  almost  alone,  to  Lillian,  "  and 
I  will  not.  But  I  would  like  to  go  up  and 
look  at  them.    Arthur  Miller  is  there." 

"Come,  then,  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  my 
cousin,  speaking  as  to  a  child  whom  she  must 
indulge  in  order  to  avoid  a  scene,  and  the  two 
passed  out.  I  manufactured  an  errand  which 
answered  my  purpose  ;  making  my  way  to  the 
head  of  the  hall,  I  spoke  to  one  of  the  musi- 
cians, then  leaned  against  the  stand  and  looked 
on  at  the  dance.  Opposite  me,  in  the  first  set, 
stood  Miss  Chateaubriand  and  Arthur  Miller. 
Both  were  looking  their  best,  danced  superbly, 
and  were  very  animated.  Lillian  and  Inez 
were  on  a  sofa  near  by.  I  was  curious  to  note 
how  they  regarded  the  scene  before  them.  My 
cousin  was  as  calm,  as  sad  as  ever ;  but  Inez' 
eyes  burned  with  an  intolerable  light.  Her 
gaze  never  swerved  from  that  gay  couple,  fol- 
lowing their  motions,  even  the  movement  of 
their  lips,  with  a  fiery  glance,  betraying  the 
smoldering  fury  within.  Jealous !  yes ;  al- 
most beyond  control.  I  wondered  that  Miller 
did  not  feel  her  eyes  scorch  him.  He  noticed 
her  after  a  time,  and  was  not  quite  so  easy  in 
his  gallantries  after  that ;  as  soon  as  that  dance 
was  over,  he  came  to  the  sofa  and  bent  over 
Inez : 

"  I  am  so  sorry  you  can  not  dance,"  he  said. 
"  So  am  I." 

"I  am  sure  you  dance  beautifully  ;  I  have 
heard  of  the  grace  of  you  Southern  ladies." 

"  Not  so  well  as  Miss  Chateaubriand." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  answered,  laughing;  "I 
will  not  swear  to  either  until  I  see  you  dance." 

"Si!"  she  suddenly  hissed  between  her  shut 


42 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


teeth ;  "  but  beware !  it  is  dangerous  to  trifle 
with  me !" 

Both  spoke  so  low  they  did  not  expect  to  be 
heard  by  others,  and  were  probably  entirely  ob- 
livious of  the  colored  servant  leaning  near  by. 

"  I  know  you  are  dangerous,"  he  returned, 
coolly — "  there  are  those  who  have  had  ex- 
perience of  that. ' ' 

She  grew  white,  and  red,  and  white  again ; 
her  hand  closed  over  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  the 
flashing  eyes  fell.    He  continued  : 

"Don't  make  yourself  disagreeable,  Inez; 
you  ought  to  be  willing  I  should  enjoy  my- 
self." 

" No,  no — not  without  me!"  she  whispered, 
passionately.  "I'm  not  good,  like  her,"  mo- 
tioning towards  Lillian  ;  "I  can  not  bear  neg- 
lect— it  sets  my  blood  on  fire.  If  you  dance 
with  that  girl  again  I  shall  be  angry.  I  tell 
you  I  can  not  but  be  jealous."  Her  syllables, 
broken  by  the  difficulty  with  which  she  spoke 
our  language,  were  soft  and  pleading ;  her  re- 
sentment was  merged  for  the  time  in  anxiety. 

"  I  like  to  see  you  jealous — it  makes  your 
eyes  so  bright,"  and  with  a  smile,  half  mock- 
ing, half  careless,  he  bowed  and  went  away. 
The  very  next  five  minutes  he  was  floating  by 
in  the  waltz  with  Miss  Chateaubriand,  and  his 
laughing  eyes  met  the  fixed  gaze  of  Inez,  as  the 
pair  whirled  deliciously  on  in  a  glamour  of 
perfumes,  lights,  and  music,  which  mingled  to- 
gether as  they  moved. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

CARTE    AND    COUNTER  CARTE. 

It  was  near  eleven  o'clock,  and  I  went  down 
to  the  supper-room.  For  the  next  hour  I  was 
busied  with  my  legitimate  duties.  I  saw  Miss 
Miller  and  Inez  standing  together,  waited  upon 
by  Arthur,  who  seemed  to  have  repented  of  his 
up-stairs  flirtation. 

Lillian  was  not  in  the  supper-room  at  all. 
As  soon  as  the  first  bustle  was  over,  my  desire 
to  know  where  she  was  induced  me  to  forsake 
my  post  and  go  out  along  the  halls.  Presently 
I  found  her  in  the  library,  which  was  entirely 
deserted  save  by  her.  Her  head  was  bowed 
upon  the  table  ;  large  tears  welled  and  dropped 
in  silence  from  her  eyes.  I  struggled  then 
with  the  fierce  desire  to  betray  myself  to  her, 
to  tell  her  how  I  pitied  her,  to  kiss  away  those 
mournful  tears ;  but  I  was  not  certain  that,  should 
I  disclose  myself,  she  would  not  shrink  from  me 
in  horror.  I  went  back  and  secured  a  salver, 
which  I  filled  with  the  choicest  delicacies  of  the 
feast,  and  brought  and  placed  on  the  table  by 
her  side. 

"  0  !  not  here,"  she  said,  looking  up  quickly, 
"  you  do  not  know ; — I  could  not  eat  here. 


Thank  you,  waiter,"  she  added,  as  if  afraid  she 
had  hurt  my  feelings  by  refusing. 

I  took  the  food  away,  angry  with  myself  at 
my  blunder. 

Presently,  the  three  in  whom  I  was  most 
interested  left  the  supper-room  in  search  of 
Lillian.  I  was  in  the  butler's  pantry,  from 
which  a  small  slatted  window  opened  on  the 
back  porch,  and  I  saw,  through  the  slats, 
Inez  and  Arthur  walking  in  the  porch.  Her 
voice  was  so  loud  as  to  make  me  fear  that  she 
would  be  overheard  by  strangers ;  then  she 
stopped  abruptly  in  her  walk,  turned  upon  him, 
and  struck  him  in  the  face.  He  attempted  to 
soothe  her,  but  she  grew  more  and  more  ex- 
cited. I  was  impressed  with  the  painful  ab- 
surdity of  her  conduct ;  she  might  have  reason 
for  anger,  but  this  was  not  our  woman's  way  of 
showing  it.  Finally  her  companion  turned  his 
back  upon  her,  tired  of  attempting  to  parry  her 
accusations.  Something  flashed  in  her  hand, 
but  a  firm  grasp  seized  her  arm,  and  Miss 
Miller's  voice,  low,  but  stormy  with  command,  s  i 
said  : 

"  Go  to  Lillian,  Mrs.  Meredith  ;  she  is  tired,  i 
and  wishes  to  go  home."  She  led  Inez  to  the  ] 
hall  door,  almost  pushed  her  in,  then  returned  j  ] 
to  her  brother.  The  two  stood  directly  under  j 
my  window. 

"  Arthur,  I  must  know  what  you  are  about ! 
Do  you  intend  to  marry  Mrs.  Meredith  ?" 

"  If  she  were  not  so  confounded  poor  I  would,  i 
I  admire  the  little  panther  immensely."  I  ' 

"  Is  she  poor?"  j ! 

"  What  under  the  sun  do  you  ask  me  about 
it  for?"  I 

"I  have  half  an  idea  that  she  may  have 
means  after  all  ?"  \ 

11  Sis,  what  do  you  mean?"  i 

"I  have  not  watched  you  two  all  summer  c 
without  results." 

' '  Hang  me,  Annie,  if  I  know  what  you  are  j 
driving  at." 

"Arthur,    you  shall  not   trifle  with  me. \\ 
Whatever  you  may  have  done,  or  contemplate! 
doing,  it  is  safer  for  you  to  confide  in  me.    If  p 
I  knew  all,  I  might  be  prepared  to  assist,  if  n 
difficulties  arose." 

"  Speak  more  plainly,  sis ;  no  beating  about  p 
the  bush,  please. ' ' 

"  Well,  then,  do  you  know  if  Mrs.  Meredith 
has  possession  of  the  money  supposed  to  have  \ 
been  stolen?" 

There  was  silence  ;  I  strained  my  ear  for  the  jj 
answer.  g 

"  Confound  it,  sis ;  I  might  as  well  ask  if  you  a 
knew  who  put  that  quietus  in  the  Doctor's  jf 
wine,  or  what  it  was  done  for. ' ' 

"Arthur!"  ,  * 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


43 


"  "Well,  don't  tease  me,  then.    I  know  noth- 
J  ing  of  the  old  fellow's  precious  box,  as  I  have 
!  told  you  again  and  again.    Things  have  come 
to  a  pretty  pass  when  one's  own  sister — " 

"  Never  mind,  Arthur  ;  I  did  not  know  but 
you  might  have  been  taken  into  the  confidence 
of  others.  I  do  not  like  you  to  be  so  intimate 
with  Mrs.  Meredith — she's  an  unprincipled,  un- 
disciplined young  thing,  quite  unfitted  by  na- 
ture or  education  to  make  a  good — even  a 
tolerable  wife.  If  you  are  willing  to  marry 
poor,  why  do  you  give  up  Lillian?" 
"I'm  not  willing  to  marry  poor." 
"  Then  cease  flirting  with  Inez  ;  it  is  not  safe 
to  play  with  fire." 

"It  is  she  who  is  flirting  with  me;  don't 
j  blame  me  for  it.  She  began  it  before  the  Doc- 
f  tor's  mishap.  I  thought  nothing  serious  of 
i  it ;  I  should  not  like,  now,  to  believe  that  his 
'  accident  was  owing  to  the  power  of  my  attrac- 
,  tions." 

i  "Don't!"  Her  voice  was  a  groan  as  she 
,  said  it. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  Annie,  but  I  really 
,  shouldn't ;  I  should  not  rest  well.  I  don't 
e  profess  to  read  your  sex  very  easily ;  you  know 
1  I  have  guessed  somebody  else  might  have  been 
r  jealous — " 

He  hesitated,  but  she  made  no  remark. 
!      "Do  you  think  Joe  Meredith  is  enjoying  the 

proceeds  ?' '  he  asked. 
L     ' 1  Why  do  you  ask  me  V '    It  seemed  as  if  she 
were  impressed  (as  I  was)  with  a  feeling  of  un- 
truth in  all  her  brother  did  or  said. 
I     "You  were  down  upon  him  hard,  at  the 
first." 

e  "That  might  have  been  policy;  a  person 
who  is  threatened  will  turn  in  time.  If  I  had 
not  directed  attention  to  him,  he  would  have 

3  directed  it  to  me.    He  has  my  handkerchief." 
A  plate  on  which  my  hand  rested  snapped 

re  under  the  weight. 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  Miss  Miller.  She 

t  had  not  noticed  the  window  before. 

te    I  knew  that  she  would  come  straight  to  the 

E  pantry,  to  find  who,  if  any  one,  had  been  a  lis- 

il  tener  to  their  conversation. 

Other  servants  were  passing  in  and  out  of  the 

lit  pantry,  and  I  immediately  slipped  out,  leaving 
them  in  possession. 

th  When  Miss  Miller  came  into  the  supper-room, 
I  was  on  the  opposite  side,  with  my  back  to  the 
pantry,  busily  arranging  dishes  on  a  side-table. 

he  Being  a  member  of  the  family,  it  was  not 
thought  strange  that  she  should  have  an  er- 

:»  rand  here.    She  passed  quickly  to  the  pantry  : 

r'i  If  there  were  an  enemy  there,  or  a  person  who 
had  possessed  himself  of  a  dangerous  secret,  she 
wrished  to  confront  him  at  once.  There  was  not 


a  grain  of  indecision  in  her  make-up ;  she  might 
commit  a  Crime,  but  she  could  face  the  conse- 
quences. Presently  she  came  out,  walking  lei- 
surely about  the  room  ;  when  she  reached  me, 
she  said : 

"Waiter,  I  was  so  busy  attending  to  the 
guests,  I  forgot  my  own  wants.  Will  you  give 
me  an  ice,  now?" 

I  brought  her  the  ice,  and  handed  her  a  chair. 
She  sank  into  it  heavily ;  her  paleness  and  hag- 
gardness  had  increased,  but  she  did  not  tremble 
or  appear  nervous. 

' 4  Where  do  you  live  V '  she  asked.  * '  I  knew 
of  no  such  person  in  this  neighborhood ; — Wat- 
son, they  said  your  name  was?" 

"  Yes,  'm." 

Glancing  around,  and  finding  that  no  one 
was  in  our  vicinity,  she  continued,  in  her  ordi- 
nary tone: 

"  Your  disguise  is  not  as  perfect  as  you  might 
wish,  Mr.  Meredith.  Let  me  advise  you  to 
leave  here  immediately,  if  you  would  consult 
your  own  safety." 

' 1  If  you  recognize  me,  why  do  you  not  raise 
the  alarm?"  I  said,  quite  calmly,  after  my 
first  start  of  surprise. 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  take  an  active  part  in 
events ;  I  would  rather  let  them  rest,  if  that 
were  possible  ;  indeed,  I  would  like  to  see  you 
go  away  before  it  is  too  late — I  have  been  fear- 
ing all  the  evening  that  you  would  be  recog- 
nized, and — I  hate  scenes !" 

I I  Why  are  you  at  Meredith  Place  ?" 

"  My  business  brought  me  here ;  I  came  here 
in  the  most  legitimate  way,  but  you — ' ' 
"  Have  never  left  it." 

"That  is  no  news  to  me,  Mr.  Meredith. 
Since  the  night  when  I  met  you  in  the  arbor,  I 
have  had  no  doubt  of  your  vicinity — I  knew 
what  ghost  haunted  this  place.  Are  you  watch- 
ing me  alone,  or  do  others  share  in  the  honor 
of  your  regards  ?' ' 

"  Since  you  are  so  well  advised,  you  ought  to 
know." 

"You  stop  with  old  Mrs.  Hooker." 

"That  is  true;  pardon  me,  Miss  Miller." 
With  a  movement  too  sudden  for  her  to  anti- 
cipate or  prevent,  I  snatched  at  a  slender  gold 
chain  about  her  neck,  and  pulled  the  charm 
which  was  attached  to  it  from  its  hiding-place. 

"  I  have  been  very  curious  about  this  key," 
I  said,  holding  it  in  my  hand,  with  a  piece  of 
the  broken  chain. 

She  dared  not  struggle  with  me  for  it.  for  fear 
of  drawing  the  attention  of  the  servants.  Her 
first  thought  was  to  look  about  to  find  if  my 
action  had  been  noticed. 

"  Give  it  back  to  me ! — you  shall  not  have  it ! 
How  do  you  dare  to  rob  me  of  my  property  ?" 


44 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


'  lIs  it  your  property  ?' ' 

"I  found  it,"  she  answered,  without  reflec- 
tion. 

"Where?" 

"No  matter — it  is  mine !  It  will  do  you  no 
good." 

I  examined  the  key  by  the  lamp  which  stood 
near.  It  bore  the  mark,  "  Madrid,  1800," — an 
ancient  affair,  of  silver,  and  of  unique  shape. 

"  I  remember  it  now !"  I  exclaimed,  so  loud 
as  to  cause  some  of  the  servants  to  look  round ; 
"  I  remarked  it  at  the  time,  but  had  forgotten 
it.  It  is  the  key  to  that  box  !  When  my  uncle 
showed  us  his  treasure,  I  remember  that  key 
was  in  the  lock !" 

"  I  know  it ;  I  found  it  after  the— his  death. 
If  I  could  find  the  box,  too,  you  might  have 
both  to  restore  to  their  rightful  owners." 

"I  believe  you  were  the  first  to  insinuate 
that  /  had  the  box ;  that  I  was  the  ingrate — the 
serpent  which  stung  the  bosom  which  warmed 
me !" 

"I  did — I  thought  so  then  ;  what  else  could 
I  think?" 

"Theijft  you  can  not  complain  that  I  enter- 
tained a  similar  opinion  of  you.  You  thought 
avarice  prompted  me;  I  believed  jealousy 
prompted  you  ;  we  have  a  right  to  our  opinions, 
and  to  prove  their  truth  if  we  can  About  this 
key:  what  further  good  can  it  do  you — you 
have  tried  everywhere  to  make  it  of  use?" 

"That  is  why  I  acquit  you  of  knowing  where 
that  money  is — because  I  have  seen  you  look- 
ing for  it." 

"  Oh  !  but  I  am  sharper  than  that — my  sus- 
picions reach  farther.  I  have  seen  you  looking 
for  it,  apparently,  which  may  be  all  a  pretense, 
to  cover  up  your  knowledge." 

"  Why  don't  you  denounce  me,  then — I  could 
scarcely  escape  from  all  these  people?" 

"  I  am  not  ready." 

"  I  will  borrow  this  key  for  a  time  ;  if  I  find 
it  of  no  use,  I  will  return  it  to  you  in  a  year  or 
two." 

"In  a  year  or  two  this  tragedy  will  pass 
from  the  memory  of  men  One  or  two  lives 
are  blasted,  but  the  world  will  forget !" 

"  I  shaH  never  forget,  nor  rest.  Know,  that 
so  long  as  I  live,  I  am  not  resting  nor  forget- 
ting!" 

I  placed  the  key  in  my  pocket. 

"It  is  not  the  key  which  is  of  value,"  she 
said,  bitterly. 

Just  then  Arthur,  with  five  or  six  young 
gentlemen,  came  in  to  look  for  an  extra  bottle 
or  two  of  champagne  ;  they  called  upon  me  to 
furnish  it. 

"For  shame!"  I  heard  Miss  Miller  whisper 
to  her  brother;  "you  have  had  more  than 


enough  already" — a  fact  which  I  had  suspect- 
ed, when  he  so  recklessly  annoyed  Mrs.  Mere- 
dith. 

I  do  not  know  what  it  was  betrayed  me,  but 
as  I  silently  brought  the  wine,  Arthur  grew 
very  quiet  to  watch  me  ;  this  disconcerted  me, 
I  made  an  awkward  movement ;  before  I  could 
defend  myself,  he  sprang  upon  me,  pulled  my 
false  hair  from  my  head  and  face — 

"Joe  Meredith,  as  I'm  alive!  Secure  him, 
boys !" 

' '  Let  him  alone,  brother  Arthur ! — do  let  him 
go !"  pleaded  Miss  Miller,  catching  him  by  the 
arm,  and  speaking  in  an  agonized  whisper. 

"  Let  him  go  ?  No,  indeed  !  Why  should  I  ? 
The  infernal  scoundrel !  The  whole  country 
has  been  looking  for  you,  Joe !" 

He  thought  he  had  me,  backed  up  as  he  was 
by  half-a-dozen  men  ;  but  I  had  no  intention 
of  being  taken  then.  Ketreating  down  the 
room  until  I  came  opposite  a  door  which  led 
into  the  kitchen  hall,  I  sprang  over  the  table, 
knocked  down  the  half-stupefied  waiters  who 
faintly  opposed  me,  and,  to  the  music  of  crash- 
ing china  and  the  shouts  and  cries  of  men  and 
women,  dashed  down  the  passage  and  out  into 
the  darkness.  By  daylight  I  could  not  have 
escaped  ;  as  it  was,  I  easily  concealed  my  flight, 
and  looking  back,  as  I  plunged  into  the  forest, 
saw  lights  glimmering  hither  and  thither  in 
the  grounds,  and  heard  excited  cries. 

Mrs.  Chateaubriand's  ball  was  more  of  a  sen- 
sation than  she  had  anticipated. 

CHAPTEE  X. 

DR.  MILTON 

The  next  day  the  whole  village  of  Hampton 
turned  out  to  look  for  the  desperado  who  had 
ventured  under  its  very  nose,  but  the /village 
was  too  late, — that  day  I  was  sleeping  off  my 
fatigue  in  a  small  room  of  a  miserable  board- 
ing-house in  one  of  New  York's  quasi-respecta- 
ble streets.  I  had  decided  that,  since  Miss 
Miller  knew  of  my  being  secreted  at  Gram 'me 
Hooker's,  it  would  not  be  safe  for  me  to  linger 
there,  only  long  enough  to  gather  up  my  slen- 
der purse  and  small  effects ;  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  reach  the  night  train,  which  my 
pursuers  were  not ; — they  thought  of  that  train 
a  little  too  late — and  I  was  off. 

I  felt  that  this  incident  would  revive  the 
search  for  me  ;  for  some  time  I  remained  very 
quiet  in  my  lodgings,  enacting  the  part  of  a 
gentleman  in  poor  health,  recovering  from  an 
attack  of  typhoid  fever.  My  looks  were  suf- 
ficiently wretched  to  support  this  character  ;  I 
had  grown  thin  during  that  exciting  summer, 
pale  with  confinement  and  want  of  exercise, 
and  haggard  with  anxiety. 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


45 


My  erst  boyish  face  began  to  be  covered  with 
a  beard  which  I  allowed  to  grow  as  it  would. 
I  took  on  the  name  of  John  Milton,  that  the 
initials  might  tally  with  those  on  my  clothes 
and  carpet-bag— a  liberty  of  which  I  hope  the 
great  poet  was  unconscious, — and  was  known  as 
Doctor  Milton  by  my  landlady  and  fellow- 
boarders.  It  was  generally  understood  that  I 
had  contracted  fever  by  visiting  hospital-pa- 
tients, and  that  as  soon  as  I  was  recuperated  I 
expected  to  set  up  an  office  and  begin  the  prac- 
tice of  medicine. 

This  was  my  intention,  which  I  soon  carried 
Into  effect.  I  had  abandoned  my  plan  of  going 
j  West,  for  the  present. — I  could  not  place  such  a 
j  distance  between  myself  and  Lillian,  especially 
1  while  that  which  concerned  her  interests  re- 
!  mained  in  such  deep  mystery. 

I  did  not  much  fear  detection,  if  I  avoided 
!  places  of  public  amusement,  and  kept  "my 
|  eyes  about  me."  I  was  in  a  quarter  of  the  city 
!  which  once  had  been  aristocratic,  but  was  now 
|  given  over  to  moderate-priced  boarding-houses 
j  and  unfashionable  renters. 

I  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  an  office  in  the 
!  basement  of  a  very  decent  house  adjoining  that 
i  in  which  I  took  my  meals,  with  "John  Milton, 
1  M.  D,"  in  gilt  letters,  displayed  in  the  window, 
i  All  the  boarders  of  our  house  promised  me 
I  their  patronage.  One  old  lady,  living  on  an 
j  annuity  which  left  her,  sometimes,  fifteen  or 
j  iJwenty  dollars  over  her  expenses  at  the  end  of 
!  a  year,  seeing  how  poor  and  forlorn  I  evidently 
|  was,  was  so  benevolent  as  to  feign  a  cramp  in 
:  her  foot  and  a  loss  of  appetite,  as  an  excuse  to 
I  call  me  in  and  pay  me  three  dollars  for  as  many 
j  visits. 

The  old  lady  loved  me,  I  know,  from  a  re- 
semblance, real  or  fancied,  which  I  bore  to  her 
i  son,  drowned  at  sea  years  before,  and  I  was 
i  grateful  for  any  one's  love  in  those  days.  I 
!  passed  some  quiet,  pleasant  evenings  with  her  ; 
i  but  I  did  not  take  her  into  my  confidence. 
(     My  great  need,  in  these  times,  was  to  hear 
from  Lillian.    I  could  no  longer  watch  my  dar- 
ling from  a  distance.    I  could  not  even  know  if 
she  were  sick,  or  in  want.    Gram' me  Hooker 
j  I  was  no  expert  with  the  pen,  and  I,  of  course, 
^ :  could  write  to  no  one.  •  Many  times  I  wrote 
jlong  letters  to  my  cousin  and  then  placed  them 
jin  the  fire  instead  of  in  the  post, — the  expres- 
sion of  my  anxiety  and  longing  in  words  was 
i  a  relief,  though  I  destroyed  the  sheet  the  next 
I  hour. 

Miss  Miller  was  now  in  the  city.    She  re- 
j  turned,  with  the  Chateaubriands,  in  November, 
jand  was  still  governess  in  their  family.  What 
interested  me  more,  and  gave  me  something  to 
'  do  in  the  way  of  speculation,  was  the  fact  that 


Arthur  was  also  in  New  York,  having  bidden 
Hampton  farewell,  and  resumed  his  practice  in 
a  Wall  street  office.  He  had  not  brought  Lillian 
with  him  as  his  bride, — nor  Inez.  Instead,  I 
discovered,  by  dint  of  much  hovering  in  that 
vicinity  of  evenings,  that  he  was  a  constant 
visitor  at  the  Chateaubriand's  in  Madison 
Square.  More,  he  visited  there,  mornings,  like 
a  gentleman  of  leisure  ;  he  sent  costly  flowers, 
and  came  in  expensive  carriages  to  take  the 
young  ladies  out. 

I  made  myself  familiar  with  his  habits  ;  I 
knew  the  price  he  paid  for  his  board  at  a  stylish 
hotel ;  what  stables  he  patronized,  and  what 
billiard-tables.  I  was  not  long  in  discovering 
that  his  income  from  his  practice  would  not 
equal  the  tenth  part  of  his  expenditures .  There 
was  "a  screw  loose  "  somewhere.  It  might  be 
that  he  won  money  in  gambling,  but  I  did  not 
think  it. 

I  observed  no  such  change  in  his  sister's 
habits.  I  saw  her,  oftentimes,  accompanying 
her  charges,  or  going  with  the  young  ladies  to 
drive  or  shop.  She  was  always  dressed  with 
great  plainness,  and  her  demeanor  was  quiet 
and  sad.  The  haughty  ambition  which  once 
spoke  in  every  look  and  gesture  was  no  longer 
there.  Still,  she  was  a  woman  who  made  her 
presence  felt.  The  Chateaubriands  treated  her 
with  the  greatest  respect,  and  were  anxious 
that  she  should  be  contented  in  their  family. 

I  knew  that  she  corresponded  regularly  with 
Lillian.  Sometimes  I  was  tempted  to  betray 
myself  to  her,  and  ask  for  news.  I  should  have 
been  foolish  to  do  so,  not  knowing  how  much 
her  mood  might  have  changed  since  our  curious 
interview  in  the  dining-room  at  Meredith  Place. 

It  was  said  that  Arthur  Miller  and  Miss  Cha- 
teaubriand were  engaged,  with  the  consent  of 
her  parents,  the  young  man,  under  Mr.  Cha- 
teaubriand's skillful  direction,  having  recently 
gone  into  some  operations  in  stocks,  which  had 
proven  highly  successful,  and  given  him  at  least 
the  beginning  of  a  fortune  to  match  with  that 
of  his  betrothed. 

I  could  easily  credit  that  he  had  attained  to 
this  promising  position.  False,  fickle,  and  of 
no  distinctive  talent,  he  was  one  of  those  who 
wear  the  gilt  all  on  the  outside.  He  could 
make  his  way  where  more  modest  and  more 
worthy  men  were  not  admitted. 

Poor  Lillian!  she  had  lost  her  lover  when 
she  lost  her  prospects  of  wealth.  What  if  this 
man  had  her  money,  without  even  such  poor 
salve  to  his  conscience  as  sharing  it  with  her 
might  be  ? 

About  this  time  one  of  those  circumstances 
occurred,  which,  trifling  in  themselves,  are  yet 
of  great  importance  when  fitted  into  a  mosaic 


1 


-18 


THE  FIGUKE  EIGHT. 


of  evidence ;  and  are  sometimes  startling  in 
the  appearance  which  they  have  of  being  or- 
dered by  a  special  Providence. 

One  dull  December  day  I  was  sitting  in  my 
office,  about  as  miserable  and  unoccupied  as  a 
man  can  be,  when  I  was  aroused  from  my 
reverie  by  the  sight  of  a  span  of  runaway  horses 
dashing  down  the  street,  dragging  a  light  sleigh 
or  cutter  in  which  were  two  gentlemen.  I  just 
had  time  to  observe  the  danger,  when  they  ran 
against  another  stouter  vehicle,  and  their  egg- 
shell conveyance  was  crushed  into  twenty  pieces, 
the  occupants  were  thrown  out,  and  the  mad- 
dened horses  flew  on,  scattering  robes  and  frag- 
ments on  the  way.  One  of  the  gentlemen 
struck  in  a  pile  of  snow  which  had  been  shoveled 
from  the  walk,  and  was  not  at  all  hurt ;  the 
other,  less  fortunate,  was  thrown  against  a 
lamp-post,  and  so  badly  bruised  that  he  was 
insensible  when  taken  up.  He  was  carried  into 
my  office  and  laid  on  my  threadbare  sofa.  His 
head  was  bleeding  from  the  blow  which  had 
stunned  him,  but  he  was  not  otherwise  much 
injured,  and  I  was  enabled  to  assure  his  alarmed 
friend  that  the  consequences  would  not  be 
serious.  By  the  application  of  stimulants  he 
soon  revived,  when  the  crowd  dispersed,  and 
his  companion,  leaving  him  with  me  to  still 
farther  recover,  went  to  look  after  the  horses. 
He  was  gone  some  time.  Meanwhile,  my  pa- 
tient lay  comfortably  on  the  sofa,  bearing  his 
misfortunes  like  a  philosopher.  We  talked 
together,  when  he  began  to  feel  like  it,  and  I 
saw,  what  I  had  before  conjectured  from  his 
features  and  dress,  that  he  was  a  Cuban.  He 
was  wrapped,  almost  to  his  eyes,  in  rich  furs, 
and  his  dress  was  elegant  and  foppish.  He  was 
young  and  fine-looking,  with  the  yellow  com- 
plexion, fine  silken  mustache,  and  glittering 
eyes  of  his  countrymen ;  jewels  sparkled  in 
his  wristbands  and  on  his  slender  hands;  he 
glanced  about  my  poor  room,  half  humorously, 
as  if  drawing  a  contrast  between  it  and  myself, 
— for  he  seemed  to  accord  me  all  the  respect  I 
could  demand,  and  to  be  interested  in  my  con- 
versation. 

In  the  midst  of  our  chat,  I  drew  my  hand- 
kerchief from  my  pocket.  Something  came 
with  it,  and  fell,  ringing,  upon  the  floor.  It 
was  the  silver  key !  I  hastily  picked  it  up,  but 
before  I  could  return  it  to  its  receptacle,  the 
stranger's  hand  was  outstretched  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  may  I  look  at  that  ?" 

Handing  it  to  him,  he  turned  it  over,  looked 
at  the  date  and  lettering,  and  remarked — 

"It  is  a  curious  key ;  may  I  ask  where  you 
got  it?" 

He  had  put  his  question  in  the  shape  most 
difficult  to  answer. 


"It  belonged  to  a  friend  of  mine,"  I  said, 
not  without  a  hesitation  which  he  must  bave 
noticed,  "why  do  you  ask?" 

"  I  did  not  know  there  were  two  such  in  ex- 
istence. My  uncle  had  one  precisely  similar  to 
this,  which  had  been  in  his  family  since  they 
came  from  Spain.  It  belonged  to  a  box,  made 
of  mahogany,  banded  with  iron,  with  steel 
rivets,  in  which  he,  and  his  father  before  him. 
kept  their  money  and  jewels.  The  key  was 
manufactured  by  a  locksmith  in  Madrid,  espe- 
cially for  that  box, — yet  here  is  another  so  much 
like  it  I  could  almost  swear  the  two  were  one." 

"Perhaps  they  are,"  I  said,  "  or  could  that 
not  be?" 

"  Heally,  I  do  not  know.  My  uncle  lost  his 
fortune  two  years  ago,  by  mercantile  specula- 
tions into  which  he  entered.  Being  very  proud, 
he  took  his  losses  much  to  heart,  finally  emi- 
grating to  California  in  the  hope  of  retrieving 
them.  I  have  not  heard  what  his  success  has 
been, — I  should  think  he  might  do  well  there  ; 
but  the  sight  of  this  key  makes  me  uneasy.  I 
have  neglected  him  too  long.  I  shall  write,  as 
soon  as  I  get  to  my  hotel,  ask  him  to  forgive  my 
remissness,  and  to*  allow  me  to  hear  from  him 
occasionally.  But  you.  have  not  told  me  the 
friend's  name  who  owned  this.  Perhaps  it  was 
my  uncle.    Have  you  been  in  California?" 

"  No.  And  this  key  was  given  to  me  by  an 
American  lady.  I  think  she  had  it  from 
gentleman  who  is  now  dead,  a  doctor,  who 
had  returned  from  California  but  a  short  time 
before." 

"Ha!"  ejaculated  the  young  Cuban,  deeply 
interested. 

He  remained  thinking  for  a  moment,  which 
gave  me  a  chance  also  to  reflect.  If  I  told  him 
that  his  uncle  was  dead,  his  cousin  married  and 
a  widow,  he  would  at  once  demand  her  place  of 
residence ;  would  doubtless  visit  her,  when  he 
would  make  known  the  news  by  which  he  had 
ascertained  her  whereabouts,  and  I  should  no 
longer  be  safe  in  my  new  locality.  The  fact 
that  /  had  in  my  possession  the  key  to  the  box 
would  add  to  the  strong  presumptive  evidence 
against  me.  My  own  safety  demanded  that  I 
should  keep  silence.  It  must  be  months  before, 
by  inquiries  which  he  might  institute  in  that 
distant  city  on  the  Western  shore,  he  would  be|  * 
able  to  trace  his  cousin,  and  in  those  monthslr 
the  end  to  which  I  had  pledged  myself  might  80 
be  attained. 

"A  doctor,"  resumed  my  visitor,  after  a 
pause  ;  4 4  that  loc '&&  bad  !  Can  it  be  that  my  un- 1 fi 
cle  is  dead ;  that  this  physician  attended  him, 
perhaps  receiving,  as  his  only  fee,  this  empty 
box,  which  was  once  always  so  crowded  with 
the  riches  of  a  proud  family?" 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


47 


I  remained  silent.  He  sat  up,  now,  forget- 
ful of  his  aching  wound,  in  the  interest  of  the 
subject : 

"  If  so,  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  Inez," 
he  continued,  more  to  himself  than  me.  "  She 
must  be  a  woman  now.  I  used  to  fancy  the 
child,  little  spit-fire  though  she  was.  She  had 
so  much  spirit !  bright  eyes,  too !  It  is  a 
shame  for  our  family  to  have  neglected  her  so. 
I  hope  her  father  has  not  died  and  left  her 
alone  in  that  wicked  city.  It  would  be  terri- 
ble, though,  doubtless,  she  is  married  before 
[this.  She  was  a  coquette  from  her  cradle — lit- 
tle Inez  was — a  cunning  child  ;"  then  to  me  : 
"  You  say  the  friend  is  dead  who  possessed  this. 
Then,  I  can  not  seek  information  in  that  quar- 
ter. I  must  curb  my  impatience  until  I  shall 
hear  by  letter.  Have  you  any  objection  to 
parting  with  the  key  ?" 

"I  should  not  like  to,  unless  you  have  a 
stronger  claim  upon  it  than  I." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  have  any — the  least — 
only  as  a  clue  to  my  uncle,  who  certainly  once 
owned  it.  If  you  prize  it,  I  will  not  ask  it ; 
but  if  you  see  the  lady  soon  who  gave  it  to 
you,  pray  inquire  if  she  knows  its  history.  1 
will  call  upon  you  again  before  I  leave  the 
city." 

Here  his  friend  returned  with  word  that  the 
horses  had  injured  themselves  badly,  and  that 
he  had  sent  them  to  the  stable,  jested  about 
the  accident,  and  the  cost  of  a  sleigh-ride — "  a 
novelty,"  he  said,  "with  which  he  was  now 
sufficiently  acquainted."  It  seemed  they  had 
turned  off  the  main  routes,  because  the  sleigh- 
ing was  better  in  our  quiet  avenue. 

"  Supposing  I  should  obtain  information 
which  I  thought  you  would  like  to  receive  ?"  I 
asked,  as  they  prepared  to  leave. 

"  Call  on  me  at  the  New  York  Hotel ;  I  shall 
be  there  for  the  next  four  weeks.  Farewell, 
and  many  thanks  for  your  attention." 

He  laid  his  card  on  the  table,  along  with  a 
gold  piece  quite  too  large  for  the  slight  service 
which  had  been  rendered  ;  but  Ididnot  see  the 
money  until,  after  they  had  left,  I  raised  the 
card. 

"  '  Don  Miguel  de  Almeda' — quite  a  grand 
name,"  I  mused,  smiling  at  the  pompous  sound 
as  I  read.  "  I  wish  his  Donship  had  not  left 
so  much  money.  It  looks  too  much  like  be- 
stowing alms  I "  I,  too,  was  proud,  with  the 
pride  of  an  American,  who,  while  he  laughs  at 
titles,  likes  well  to  preserve  his  independence. 
"If  he  comes  again,  I'll  give  him  his  gold 
piece  ;  if  he  don't,  why,  it  seems  as  if  fate  had 
made  me  a  present  of  the  means  for  a  journey 
to  Meredith  Place." 

My  desire  to  return  to  Hampton  was  like  the 


longing  and  restlessness  of  a  fever-patient ;  and 
the  first  use  which  it  occurred  to  me  to  make  of 
the  money  was  to  spend  it  in  a  secret  visit  to 
the  Place. 

I  did  not  feel  quite  at  ease  about  allowing 
Don  Miguel  to  go  away  with  no  tidings  of  his 
cousin.  I  had  boasted  to  myself  my  intention 
of  supporting  Inez,  if  Lillian  should  marry.  It 
is  true  that  my  feelings  towards  the  young 
widow  had  changed  very  much  since  the  night 
I  had  detected  her  in  a  stolen  interview 
with  Arthur  Miller  ;  I  now  knew  her  to  be 
fickle,  imprudent,  and  selfish,  if  nothing  worse. 
Still  she  was  young,  scarcely  more  than  a  child, 
and  never  had  received  training  to  make  her 
otherwise  than  what  she  was — the  creature  of 
every  impulse.  I  did  not  mean  to  be  too  se- 
vere in  my  condemnation  of  her  conduct.  If 
this  cousin  of  hers  really  felt  any  interest  in 
her,  it  would  probably  be  very  greatly  to  her 
advantage  that  he  should  be  allowed  to  know 
where  she  was.  He  was  rich  and  liberal.  It 
was  natural  to  suppose  that  he  would  take  her 
with  him  to  her  relatives  in  Cuba,  if  she  would 
consent  to  go.  This  would  be  much  better  for 
her  than  giving  lessons  on  the  guitar.  It  would 
certainly  be  a  hundred  times  better  for  Lillian. 
I  knew  as  well  as  if  I  could  see  their  daily  life, 
how  Inez'  petulance  and  complaining  wore 
upon  my  cousin,  and  that  the  burden  of  the 
work  must  rest  upon  her  shoulders. 

It  would  be  cowardly  in  me  to  place  my  own 
convenience  in  the  way  of  the  interest  of  either 
of  those  two  girls. 

I  was  not  long  in  making  up  my  mind  that  I 
would  call  upon  the  Don  and  inform  him  where 
his  cousin  Inez  could  be  found.  But,  before 
taking  such  a  step,  it  was  evident  that  I  must 
be  prepared  to  quit  my  present  name  and  local- 
ity, and  that  so  prudently  as  to  leave  no  trace 
of  my  flight ;  for  Don  Miguel  would  of  course 
relate  by  what  means  he  had  discovered  his 
cousin,  when  it  would  at  once  be  surmised  who 
had  the  key  of  the  missing  box,  and  I  should 
be  arrested  in  less  than  three  days. 

"  It  will  be  a  month  before  he  leaves  the 
city,"  I  said  to  myself.  "In  ten  days  it  will 
be  Christmas.  I  will  take  my  holiday  then. 
One  brief  visit,  under  cover  of  night  and  dark- 
ness, to  the  old  place  ;  one  stolen  look  at  Lil- 
lian's face — then,  if  nothing  occurs  to  give  me 
farther  hope  of  a  speedy  resolution  of  the  prob- 
lem, I  will  return,  place  Don  Miguel  on  the 
track  of  his  cousin,  and  myself  fly  to  some 
more  distant  city,  where  I  can  go  to  work  with 
a  will,  to  do  something  for  my  darling's  ease 
and  comfort.  Inez  will  be  provided  for  ;  per- 
haps, also,  Lillian,  for  the  Don  ' '    Here  a 

spasm  of  jealousy  shook  my  heart-strings.  The 


48 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


Cuban  gentleman  was  young  and  attractive  in 
every  way — he  could  not  meet  Lillian  with- 
out being  enchanted  by  her !  what  was  to 
be  expected  but  that  they  should  love  one 
another  ? 

If  Lillian's  affections#were  not  hopelessly 
fixed  upon  Arthur,  nothing,  I  argued,  could 
prevent,  those  two  from  becoming  interested  in 
each  other.  The  Cuban,  accustomed  to  the 
darker  charms  of  the  South,  would  be  doubly 
alive  to  the  exquisite  type  of  my  cousin's  beau- 
ty ;  while  he,  so  gallant,  so  graceful  in  every 
movement,  full  of  pride  and  high  spirits,  would 
appear  to  her  as  if  one  of  the  heroes  had  walked 
out  of  a  poet's  story  to  meet  her. 

Well,  why  should  it  not  be  so  ?  This  would 
furnish  for  her  all  that  I  craved  for  her  wel- 
fare— love,  protection,  and  wealth.  Ought  I 
not,  poor  as  I  was,  resting  under  a  cloud,  com- 
pelled to  work  under  every  disadvantage,  to  be 
glad  to  throw  such  a  chance  in  her  way  ?  I 
had  not  the  least  idea  that  my  cousin  ever 
thought  of  me,  except  as  a  cousin,  and  a  vagrant 
one  at  that.  She  no  more  guessed  the  passion 
I  felt  for  her  than  that  she  had  a  lover  in  the 
moon. 

I  said  to  myself  that  I  should  like  to  know 
that  she  was  mated  with  one  who  struck  me  as 
favorably  as  this  young  gentleman.  But  my 
heart  gave  the  words  the  lie.  It  would  make 
me  unutterably  miserable  to  know  it.  Was 
unutterable  misery  too  great  a  sacrifice  to  make 
for  her  ?  No,  it  was  not !  I  would  make  it. 
My  plan  should  be  carried  out. 

Perhaps  better  days  were  in  store  for  all  but 
me.  I  can  afford  to  smile  sadly  now  as  I  look 
back  and  recall  with  what  a  brave  struggle  I 
nerved  myself  to  send  a  suitor  to  the  feet  of  the 
girl  I  loved — a  lover  to  my  own  darling. 

CHAPTER  XL 

A    HEART-VAIL    THROWN  ASIDE. 

Christmas  eve  was  passing  into  Christmas 
morn  as  the  midnight  train  dropped  me  at 
Hampton  station.  A  slouched  hat  and  thick 
overcoat  were  all  the  disguise  needed  at  that 
lonely  hour ;  I  felt  no  apprehension  of  being 
recognized,  even  if  I  should  encounter  acquain- 
tances. The  train  went  roaring  off  into  the 
distance,  and  I  turned  to  my  solitary  walk. 

The  moon  hung  directly  in  the  zenith,  the 
snow  lay  in  dazzling  whiteness  everywhere  ;  it 
was  the  perfection  of  a  winter  night, — calm, 
brilliant,  cold.  The  station  was  between  Hamp- 
ton and  Meredith  Place  ;  between  the  station 
and  the  latter  place  was  the  cemetery  of  the 
village.  As  I  passed  it,  its  white  tomb-stones 
standing  solemnly  in  the  whiter  moonlight,  look- 


ing so  desolate  as  they  rose  out  of  the  drifted 
snow,  my  heart  urged  me  to  go  in  and  linger  a 
few  moments  by  the  graves  of  my  relatives — 
by  his  grave,  dearest  friend  I  ever  had,  save  one. 
For  I  had  loved  my  uncle  as  I  loved  no  other 
human  being  except  his  daughter.  Mine  was 
not  one  of  those  natures  to  love  swiftly  and 
warmly — to  forget  quickly  and  coldly.  With 
me,  love  was  deathless. 

Opening  the  smaller  gate,  I  passed  along  the 
untrodden  road  until  I  came  to  the  path  which 
led  off  to  two  mounds  rising  side  by  side,  one 
crowned  with  a  slender  marble  shaft,  the  other 
as  yet  unmarked.  The  path  to  these  graves 
bore  the  print  of  feet  which  had  come  and  gone 
more  than  once  ;  and  as  I  knelt  beside  them,  I 
saw  myrtle  wreaths  laid  on  both,  while  on  Dr. 
Meredith's  was  a  garland  of  the  most  fragrant 
and  costly  hot-house  flowers,  so  fresh  that  I 
could  guess  that  it  had  not  been  there  many 
hours.  I  knew  who  placed  it  there.  I  had  in- 
formed myself  of  Miss  Miller's  intention  to 
spend  her  fortnight's  holiday  with  Lillian  in  her 
humble  little  home.  Lillian  was  to  have  a 
brief  vacation,  like  the  rest,  and  her  former 
governess  was  to  visit  her,  not  only  for  the 
enjoyment  of  her  society,  but  to  clear  up  some 
of  the  difficulties  in  the  path  of  the  young 
teacher.  From  a  dark  corner  of  the  New  York 
depot  I  had  watched  Miss  Miller  depart,  six 
hours  earlier  than  myself,  and  in  her  hand  she 
had  carried  this  wreath  ;  I  could  guess  that  she, 
too,  had  paused,  in  coming,  at  this  cemetery, 
and  had  left  here,  under  the  shadow  of  the  tw  i- 
light, this  token  of  remembrance,  unseen  by 
mortal  eyes. 

Would  a  murderess  deposit  flowers  on  the 
grave  of  her  victim  ? 

The  thought  struck  me  there  with  the  force 
of  something  new.  Still,  many  a  woman  has 
murdered  the  man  she  passionately  loved,  giv- 
ing up  her  after-life  to  remorse  and  despair. 
But  flowers !  0,  how  could  she  bring  them  to 
mock  this  cold  and  glittering  mound,  if  she 
had  anything  to  do  in  bringing  the  sleeper 
here  ? — tearing  him  away  from  life,  when  at  its 
fullest  and  best,  to  bind  him  here  an  untimely 
prisoner !  To  think  of  it  made  me  furious.  I  j 
caught  the  wreath,  and  tore  it  in  a  hundred 
parts,  which  I  threw  as  far  from  the  grave  thus  ! 
desecrated,  as  my  arm  had  strength  to  hurl 
them. 

"  Murderess !  murderess!  murderess  !"  I  kept 
hissing  between  my  shut  teeth,  as  I  did  so. 

' 4  No !  do  not  call  me  by  that  dreadful  name." 

I  started  as  the  unexpected  voice  said  this, 
close  at  my  side, — deep,  trying  to  be  firm,  but 
trembling  with  pathetic  weakness, — started  aa 
if  a  ghost  had  risen  from  the  tombs  about  me. 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


51 


"  You,  Miss  Miller,  here,  at  this  hour  of  the 
night!" 

' '  Why  do  you  persecute  me?"  she  continued, 
reproachfully,  with  a  manner  so  totally  unlike 
her  usual  haughty  self-possession,  that  I  was 
touched  in  spite  of  myself.    "  My  poor  flowers, 
even,  are  not  allowed  to  warm  his  icy  grave — 
<I,  who  loved  him  with  a  love  which  put  to 
shame  the  tamer  and  more  selfish  affection  of 
all  his  other  friends  !    Lillian,  poor  child  !  she 
truly  appreciated  him.    I  love  her.    I  would 
do  anything  for  her  ;  hut  that  other — that  soul- 
less, heartless  thing  !  neither  woman  nor  child, 
without  feeling,  save  for  herself !  without  power 
j  to  understand  what  happiness  was  hers !  she^ 
:  young  tigress  ! — I  have  no  word  of  scorn  and 
hate  to  express  her.    It  is  time  we  understood 
each  other,  Joseph  Meredith.    Let  us  no  longer 
play  this  silly  game  of  hide-and-seek.  De- 
nounce me  to  the  authorities,  if  you  will.  Go 
boldly  to  Hampton  village,  and  tell  them  you 
-  have  found  the  woman  who  did  the  deed.  Call 
I  me,  in  the  face  of  the  world,  as  you  called  me 
I  now,  to  those  deaf  ears  of  the  dead — murderess, 
f  Give  them  what  proofs  you  have, — the  key,  the 
handkerchief.     Relate  my  midnight  wander- 
|j  rags.    Or  I,  if  I  so  determine,  will  denounce 
Jjyou ! — will  point  out  your  little  office  where 
*i  John  Milton  practices  medicine  when  he  can 
find  a  patient !  JYjou  see  I  know  all.    I  am,  at 
: (least,  as  sharp,  and  have  as  set  a  purpose,  as 
'  yourself.    Let  us  no  longer  treat  each  other  as 
j  secret  enemies  ;  let  us  be  open  in  our  warfare.  | 
|  So,  if  you  wish  it;  as  for  me,  I  would  rather 
| (enter  into  a  league  with  you.    I  admire  your 
I  subtlety  and  your  perseverance.    I  believe  if 
|  we  enter  into  a  compact  to  serve  each  other, 
Ijthat  both  will  sooner  arrive  at  the  truth.  Both 
|have  the  same  object  in  view.    Why  not  join 
|  forces?" 

1    "My  object  is  to  discover  and  punish  my 
sjuncle's  murderer,"  I  replied,  coldly,  although 
||  intensely  surprised  at  her  excited  words,  es- 
Ipecially  at  her  last  request.    "To  punish  that 
k  murderer,  without  show  of  mercy,  be  it  man  or 
1  woman ;  and  to  restore,  if  possible,  to  my  be- 
I  loved  cousin,  the  patrimony  of  which  she  has 
I  been  so  relentlessly  robbed." 
|    "  Our  aims  are  identical ;  then  why  not  enter 
into  a  partnership  ?  I  know,  perfectly,  that  for 
a,  long  time,  you  believed  me — me  only — to  be 
the  guilty  person ;  that  at  times,  even  yet, 
though  you  have  seen  things  which  have 
shaken  your  first  impressions,  they  return 
upon  you  at  intervals,  as  they  did  to-jiight.  I 
acknowledge,  also,  that  for  some  time,  I  be- 
lieved you  were  the  criminal ;  but  I  now  ex- 
onerate you  in  my  own  mind,  from  the  slightest 
suspicion.    I  have  satisfied  myself  by  watching 


you.  If  I  were  called  to  the  witness-stand  to- 
morrow, I  should  swear  my  conviction  of  your 
innocence.  You  think  me  hard  and  designing, 
but  I  try  always  to  do  justice.  You  disliked 
me,  because  you  thought  I  had  designs  upon 
your  uncle.  I  had,  if  to  love  a  man  as  I  loved 
Doctor  Meredith,  can  be  called  having  a  de- 
sign upon  him.  I  appreciated  him  ;  I  enjoyed 
studies  which  he  enjoyed;  the  bent  of  our 
tastes  was  similar.  I  felt,  that,  should  he  be 
drawn  to  love  me,  we  should  be  very  happy  to- 
gether. I  acknowledge  that,  during  his  absence 
in  California,  I  was  upheld  in  our  loneliness  and 
almost  absolute  poverty,  to  do  my  duty  to  his 
child,  and  take  care  of  his  house,  by  the  hope 
that,  on  his  return,  he  would  see  what  I  was  to 
him,  and  we  should  be  married.  Was  there 
anything  selfish  or  vile  in  that?  You  are 
young,  sir,  and  youth,  let  me  tell  you,  is  ever  I 
critical  and  exacting  in  proportion  to  its  own 
inexperience  and  vanity.  Had  you  been  older, 
better  read  in  the  world,  you  would  not  have 
been  so  free  in  launching  your  arrows  of  scorn 
at  a  woman,  the  depth  of  whose  nature  yours 
could  not  fathom." 

She  paused  a  moment,  in  a  superb  attitude 
of  passion  and  tragic  grief,  the  frosty  moonlight 
increasing  the  pallor  of  her  face,  her  eyes  blaz- 
ing, her  lips  quivering  ;  I  was  silent,  for  I  felt 
the  force  of  what  she  said,  and  remorse  for  the 
many  wicked  opinions  I  had  indulged  against 
her. 

/  <<  you  must  be  aware,"  she  went  on,  "  that 
I  was  sacrificing  much  in  remaining,  as  I  did, 
at  Meredith  Place, — and  if  I  expected  my  re- 
Ward,  what  was  that  more  than  others,  than 
you,  yourself,  would  do?  I  did  look  forward 
1  to  a  union  with  Doctor  Meredith,  but  I  should 
not  have  cherished  this  expectation  had  I  not 
felt  myself  entirely  capable  of  being  his  friend 
and  helpmeet  as  well  as  his  wife.  God  knows 
I  was  selfish,  in  that  I  expected  to  be  so  blessed, 
after  a  lonely  and  desolate  life, — but  not  entirely 
selfish,  for  I  looked,  also,  to  his  happiness." 
She  paused  again. 

"  It  was  not  pleasant  for  me  to  feel  that  you 
were  always  watching  me,  nor  that  you  laughed 
at  my  feeling,  setting  me  down  as  a  woman 
too  old  to  be  romantic, — only  you  could  truly 
love,  beardless  boy  that  you  were !  It  is  never 
agreeable  for  a  woman  to  have  her  love  sus- 
pected before  she  is  certain  of  its  return ;  hence, 
I  did  not  like  you  to  play  the  spy  upon  my 
heart.  I  did  not  like  you,  your  antecedents, 
nor  the  promise  you  gave  for  the  future.  I  was 
willing  that  Lillian  should  have  opportunity  to 
see  other  young  men,  before  she  became  en- 
tangled with  you,  and  I  brought  on  my  brother 
Arthur,  and  introduced  her  to  the  young  society 


52 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


of  the  village,  with  the  purpose  of  giving  her 
freedom  of  choice.  You  put  the  worst  con- 
struction on  all  my  actions ;  so  be  it, — I  forgive 
you  for  it,  if  only  you  will  work  with  me  for 
an  object  in  which  we  have  equal  interest. 

"  When  Dr.  Meredith  brought  home  that  silly 
creature,  you  alone  guessed  the  effect  it  had 
upon  me.  The  first  few  hours  I  was  stunned 
by  the  blow.  Pride  enabled  me  to  keep  up 
appearances,  but  I  was  wretched,  most  wretch- 
ed for  my  own  sake.  But,  when  I  grew  calm 
enough  to  look  upon  her,  I  began  to  be  miser- 
able for  his  sake.  I  saw  the  mistake  he  had 
made — a  mistake  which  one  of  his  generous 
and  unworldly  nature  would  be  sure  to  make 
under  the  circumstances." 

She  was  silent,  apparently  lost  in  painful 
recollections. 

"  You  have  called  her  a  silly  creature,  a  child, 
and  a  tigress,"  I  remarked,  after  a  moment ; 
"  do  you  speak  at  random  ?" 

"  No,  she  is  all  three  : — a  child  in  want  of 
discipline  ;  silly  by  the  narrowness  of  her  mind 
and  smallness  of  her  ideas  ;  a  tigress  in  passion, 
when  her  Southern  blood  is  aroused." 

"  Then  why  have  you  permitted  your  brother 
to  be  so  attentive  to  her  ?" 

"  Some  things  must  be  permitted  that  others 
may  be  accomplished.  0,  to  think  of  her, 
allowing  her  wayward  fancies  to  run  after 
other  men,  when  he,  her  benefactor  and  hus- 
band, lies  here  with  the  snow  above  him — the 
cold  snow  ! ' ' 

Her  last  words  were  sobbed  out,  and  she 
made  a  movement  as  if  to  throw  herself  on  his 
grave,  but  restrained  herself,  wiped  the  icy 
drops  which  were  freezing  on  her  cheeks,  and 
went  on — 

1 '  Tell  me,  truly,  Mr.  Meredith,  have  you  not 
reversed  your  decision  with  regard  to  me? 
Rave  you  not  been  forced  to  conclude  that  I 
am  not  the  guilty  party  ? — (as  if  I  would  have 
harmed  a  hair  of  his  head!)"  in  an  undertone 
to  herself.  "  Is  there  not  another  person  whose 
conduct  really  gives  rise  to  more  suspicion  than 
mine?" 

"There  is,"  I  said,  after  an  instant's  hesi- 
tation 

"  Would  you  spare  her  any  more  than  me,  if 
she  should  be  found  guilty  by  you  and  me  in 
our  researches  V ' 

"  No,  I  would  not,"  I  answered,  shuddering. 

She  noticed  the  shiver,  and  seemed  to  think 
I  was  cold. 

"  I  will  not  keep  you  here  any  longer,"  she 
said.  "  Possibly,  too,  we  might  be  observed. 
How  long  did  you  expect  to  stay  in  this  vicin- 
ity?" 

"  Only  twenty-four  hours." 


"  Will  you  be  at  Gram' me  Hooker's  ?  I  ask( 
because  I  would  like  to  see  you  again,  to  com 
pare  notes  with  regard  to  a  certain  person." 

"  I  do  not  know.    Is  there  a  tenant  now,  a 
Meredith  Place  V ' 

"  Lillian  told  me  there  was  none.  The  hous< 
is  entirely  empty.  If  you  wish  to  go  there,  n< 
place  will  be  safer, — for  the  stories  of  its  bein| 
haunted  keep  all  intruders  away.  I  came  ou 
to-night,  after  Lillian  and  Inez  were  in  bed. 
wished  to  visit  this  place  alone.  I  had  littl 
thought  of  your  being  here.  If  you  were  th 
murderer  you  would  fly  from,  instead  of  to 
this  grave." 

"Perhaps, — though  I  have  heard  of  guilt;  1 
consciences  which  forever  urged  their  owner  i 
on  to  the  lonely  hollows  or  the  deep  well|  \ 
where  the  bodies  of  their  victims  lay  concealed!  i 
Miss  Miller,  I  will  not  pretend  a  friendshii 
which  I  do  not  wholly  feel.  I  have  been  to<[  in 
deeply  prejudiced  to  change  my  opinion  sudjrt 
denly  ;  but  this  I  will  say,  that  I  am  ready  t  | 
cooperate  with  you  in  any  scheme  to  disco ve|  & 
the  cause  or  motive  of  my  uncle's  death,  an  a 
the  whereabouts  of  his  fortune.  Has  it  nevel  ji 
occurred  to  you  that  he  might  have  been  driveij  ta 
to  suicide  by  unpleasant  discoveries  with  regarij  n 
to  bis  young  wife  ?"  (f 

"It  has,"  she  said  quickly;  "but  the  ide  ai 
is  always  controverted  by  the  probability  thai)  if 
in  such  a  case,  he  would  have  left  his  dyin;  n 
message,  before  he  drank  the  fatal  draughl  a; 
We  should  have  known  the  meaning  of  tha  i> 
mystery — the  figure  eight." 

"True."  e: 

"  We  must  not  linger  here.    I  will  talk  wit!  , 
you  about  these  matters  to-morrow.    In  th 
afternoon,  just  before  tea,  I  will  walk  out  t 
Meredith  Place.    Are  you  not  going  ?" 

"  In  a  moment." 

She  turned  away,  and  I,  stooping,  plucked  . | 
spray  from  the  myrtle  which  Lillian  had  twine  ^ 
for  her  mother's  grave.  Kissing  the  dry,  sens*;  j,, 
less  leaves,  I  placed  them  in  my  note-book,  an  ^ 
struck  off  into  the  woods  which  fringed  on  L 
side  of  the  cemetery.  No  leaves  now  on  th  ra 
bare  and  glittering  branches,  which  swung  wit|  ^ 
melancholy  and  mysterious  moans,  above  m<i  [ 
while  the  crisp  snow  crackled  under  my  fee  ra 
By  a  circuitous  route  through  the  familiar  fores)  L 
I  gained  Meredith  Place,  deserted  now  even  t  B 
Tiger.  The  mansion  loomed  up  in  the  nigh  & 
huge  and  desolate ;  the  ivy  waving  from  tl . 
stone  tower  seemed  the  only  living  thing  ther,  f. 

I  was  greatly  agitated  as  I  approached  it  . 
so  much  had  been  done  and  suffered  in  th;  L 
house,  I  could  not  behold  it  again,  after  an  al 
sence,  without  emotion.   I  soon  found  a  windo 
which  yielded  to  my  efforts,  and  opening  it,  ~ 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


53 


■i  itered,  closed  it  behind  me,  and  was  alone  in 
m  ie  shadowy,  dimly-moonlighted,  chilly  house, 
hich,  one  year  ago,  had  been  so  warm  and 

£  right  with  love,  hope,  and  gay  young  life. 

j '.Too  much  agitated  to  feel  sleepy,  I  walked 
BS  irough  all  the  familiar  rooms,  in  which  the 
o<  .d  furniture  still  kept  its  place.  The  clock  was 
iq  lent  now,  in  the  silent  hall.  In  a  freak  of 
:n  incy  I  climbed  to  the  face  and  wound  it  up. 

If  visitors  should  come  here  within  the  week, 
t!  ley  will  swear  the  place  is  haunted,  sure 
ihaough,"  I  thought,  as  I  turned  the  key  and 
to  it  the  pendulum  to  swinging. 

Immediately  the  voice  of  the  old  clock  peal- 
fo  i  out  loud  and  clear,  ringing  through  the 
empty  mansion  with  startling  distinctness. 
■II  gain,  as  once  before — eight  I 
&  I  can  not  describe  how  solemn  and  powerful 
lijie  effect  upon  my  excited  mind.  Did  the 
01  me-piece  always  pause  at  that  precise  point, 
id  hen  it  run  down,— or  was  this  a  chance  coin- 
ti  deuce  ?  Doubtless  the  first ;  but  it  did  not 
e;em  thus  to  me,  as  I  stood  alone  in  the  de- 
al ;rted  house,  long  bars  of  moonlight  and  black 
I  roups  of  shadows  dividing  the  hall.  That 
enartlmg  peal,  ringing  out  for  my  ear  alone, 
n  jemed  to  me  my  uncle' s  voice.   It  said — ' 4  You 

re  sleeping, — you  are  letting  the  months  go  by; 
e  ly  body  is  mouldering  into  dust,  my  friends 
it  re  forgetting  me — while  you  rest  upon  your 
i<  rornise.  Work  !  work  I  Do  not  grow  discou- 
itiged — do  not  be  fooled  by  a  woman's  art,  nor 
I  Lye  way  to  compassion,  nor  be  deceived  by 

ae  or  the  other,  until  the  pledge  you  gave  is 

ideemed :  Eemember  the  figure  eight !" 
B,  As  if  I  ever  thought  of  anything  else ! 
l 

CHAPTER  XII. 

TWO  STEPS  IN  THE  RIGHT  DIRECTION. 

I  awoke,  the  next  morning,  in  a  broad  blaze 

I  f  light,  the  cloudless  sun  shining  on  the  crust- 
*1  snow.  The  village  bells  were  calling  to 
e  durch,  and  I  found,  by  consulting  my  watch, 

II  aat  it  was  ten  o'clock.  I  had  slept  well  in  my 
1  Id  bed  in  my  own  old  room,  despite  of  its 

rant  of  airing  ;  and  if  I  now  felt  rather  stiff  in 
de  joints,  a  few  minutes  exercise  got  rid  of 
iiat.  The  wallet  which  I  brought  with  me 
ras  filled  with  provisions,  for  I  anticipated 
eing  my  own  provider.  A  loaf  of  bread,  some 
rackers  and  cheese,  dried  beef,  and  a  small 
ackage  of  tea,  promised  me  sustenance  for 
lore  than  one  day,  should  any  circumstance 
rise  to  detain  me. 
I  felt  the  necessity  for  something  warm  to 
rink,  and  for  a  fire ;  but  I  did  not  intend  to 
ommit  the  imprudence  of  kindling  a  fire  in  the 
atchen,  whose  smoke  would  betray  me.  I  re- 
alled  to  mind  the  furnace  in  the  laboratory, 


and  the  charcoal  ready  to  my  hand,  and,  hav- 
ing obtained  a  covered  saucepan  from  the  dress- 
er, I  betook  myself  to  the  room  which  I  could 
not  visit,  even  for  this  homely  purpose,  without 
strange  sensations.  Taking  the  precaution  to 
turn  the  key  in  the  door,  I  busied  myself  pre- 
paring my  simple  breakfast. 

Having  obtained  water  from  a  well  under 
cover  of  the  laundry,  and  dusted  a  shelf  on  which 
to  spread  out  my  food,  I  turned  my  attention  to 
the  small  furnace  which  my  uncle  had  caused 
to  be  placed  in  the  laboratory,  to  assist  him  in 
his  experiments.  I  proposed  to  kindle  a  few 
coals  in  its  mouth,  sufficient  to  steep  my  cup 
of  tea :  but  I  no  sooner  took  down  the  little 
iron  door  before  it,  than  I  saw  that  some  person 
or  persons  had  been  here  since  my  last  visit  to 
the  room.  This  was  not  surprising,  as  the 
summer  tenants  had  remained  several  weeks 
after  my  flight.  Some  member  of  the  family 
might  have  had  occasion  to  use  a  fire  and  a 
crucible,  if  only  to  mend  some  piece  of  furni- 
ture ;  but,  as  I  lifted  the  crucible  to  give  the 
saucepan  its  place,  something  which  gleamed 
in  the  bottom  caused  me  to  carry  it  to  the 
window — to  forget  my  charcoal  and  my  tea  ; 
everything  but  the  fact  that  a  few  grains  of 
gold  clung  there  to  the  bottom  of  that  vessel. 

They  had  not  been  there  when  I  went  away  ! 
My  thought  leaped  instantly  to  one  conclusion  : 
this  was  Doctor  Meredith's  gold ;  some  one  had 
discovered  it,  or  had  known  its  whereabouts 
from  the  first,  and,  afraid  to  use  it  in  the  shape 
of  bullion,  was  surreptitiously  smelting  it,  as 
opportunity  offered. 

For  a  few  moments  the  blood  ran  as  molten 
in  my  veins  as  if  I  had  been  tried  in  that  fur- 
nace ;  but  I  soon  grew  calm  enough  to  consider 
the  situation. 

The  first  question  which  presented  itself  was, 
whether  the  gold  had  all  been  disposed  of,  or 
whether  the  party  was  still  engaged  in  the 
work.  If  the  latter,  all  I  had  to  do  was  to 
cover  all  trace  of  a  visitor  having  been  to  the 
house,  and  patiently,  tirelessly  watch,  until  1 
detected  the  surreptitious  operator  at  his  work. 

Forgetting  all  about  my  breakfast,  I  com- 
menced investigations  in  the  room.  But  the 
inference  that  others  visited  Meredith  Place — 
that  I  was  not  the  only  ghost,  made  me  very 
careful.  I  closed  the  blinds  to  the  window, 
hung  something  before  the  key-hole  of  the 
door,  and  proceeded  cautiously  in  my  examin- 
ation. It  was,  as  I  have  said  before,  a  room  in 
which  one  had  rich  opportunities  for  conceal- 
ment, full  as  it  was  of  nooks  and  crannies, 
cupboards,  shelves,  drawers.  It  was  more  than 
an  hour  before  I  reached  the  ash-hole — a  little 
iron  box  under  the  furnace,  where  refuse  was 


54 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


thrown.  It  looked  very  innocent  in  its  dust 
and  ashes,  but  as  I  poked  about  with  a  pair  of 
long  pincers,  they  struck  against  something 
hard  beneath  the  little  heap  of  ashes,  and  in 
another  instant  I  held  in  my  hand  the  dies  for 
coining  the  gold  eagles  of  the  United  States ! 
I  felt  then,  as  children  say,  when  playing  hide- 
and-seek,  that  I  was  "warm" — very  near  the 
objects  of  weary  months  of  "seeking."  The 
sweat  broke  out  on  my  forehead  ;  my  first 
impulse  was  to  thank  God  that  this  much  had 
been  accomplished ! 

Now,  I  must  set  the  trap  to  catch  the  rat !  I 
replaced  the  dies  exactly  as  I  found  them,  threw 
back  the  ashes  in  the  same  careless  heap,  re- 
moving every  trace  of  disturbance.  I  was  even 
sorry  that  I  had  dusted  the  shelf,  for  I  could 
not  replace  the  dust,  anil,  gathering  up  my 
breakfast,  I  betook  myself  to  an  upper  cham- 
ber, content  to  eat  it  cold.  When  I  had  satis- 
fied my  hunger,  I  made  my  bed,  locked  myself 
in  my  chamber,  that  no  one  might  too  sudden- 
ly surprise  me,  and  placed  myself  in  a  window- 
recess  with  a  book  which  I  had  brought  with  me 
to  help  pass  the  time.  I  dared  not  venture  to 
Gram' me  Hooker's  by  daylight,  and  many  hours 
must  intervene  before  the  interview  appointed 
with  Miss  Miller. 

But  I  did  not  much  enjoy  reading.  In  the 
first  place,  I  was  cold,  and  I  remembered  how 
merry  were  most  homes  on  that  festival  day. 
I  pictured  the  children  with  their  gifts,  and 
their  elders,  sitting  down  to  tables  laden  with 
choice  feasts.  I  was  lonely — homeless — name- 
less— an  outcast,  and  unutterably  sad. 

I  thought  of  Lillian.  My  longing  eyes  turned 
ever  in  the  direction  of  the  little  white 
dwelling,  which  I  could  not  see,  but  of  which 
my  fancy  made  a  picture.  I  was  so  afraid  my 
darling  was  not  comfortable — that  she  suffered 
actual  want,  and  I  felt  that  she  must  be  sorely 
tried  by  this  first  recurrence  of  the  Christmas 
festival  since  her  affliction.  It  was  cruel  that  I 
could  not  go  to  her  and  offer  her  my  sympathy  ; 
that  I  was  driven,  by  the  persecutions  of  those 
who  were  perhaps  themselves  the  criminals, 
from  her  society. 

Flinging  my  book  down,  I  walked  back  and 
forth  to  prevent  numbness  from  the  cold,  ponder- 
ing upon  how  I  should  conclude  to  receive  Miss 
Miller's  overtures,  which  had  so  surprised  me. 

While  her  tone  and  manner  were  those  of  a 
sorrowful  and  truthful  woman,  I  did  not  forget 
that  duplicity  wears  all  colors,  and  that  she 
might  be  seeking  my  friendship  in  order  to 
get  possession  of  the  key  and  handkerchief, 
and  perhaps  to  make  a  tool  of  me  to  work  out 
her  own  designs. 

Yet  I  had  no  longer  any  reason  to  suppose 


that  she  had  the  least  knowledge  of  the  stolei 
property.  My  brain  was  dull  and  heavy  witl 
the  everlasting  pressure  of  the  subject ;  yet  i 
horror,  to  which  all  previous  dread  was  light 
crept  over  me — chilled  me,  thrilled  me,  whei 
I  saw  that  the  finger  of  fate  pointed  toward 
her  of  whom  the  governess  and  myself  were  no^f 
both  suspicious ! 

The  weary  day  crept  on — a  doleful  Christmai 
to  me,  with  only  one  glint  of  brightness  in  it— 
the  feeling  that  I  was  near  to  Lillian.  Th< 
afternoon  shadows  were  growing  long,  when  ]j 
heard  the  clash  of  the  closing  gate,  and  ap 
proaching  voices.  Peering  between  the  cur 
tains,  I  saw  Miss  Miller,  Lillian,  and  Inez, 
coming  up  the  avenue.  Miss  Miller  talked  i 
little  loud,  I  could  infer,  with  the  purpose  o: 
warning  me  to  conceal  myself,  and,  as  thej 
drew  near,  looked  up  and  flirted  her  handker- 
chief. 

Her  face  was  anxious,  which  led  me  to  believe 
that  the  girls  had  insisted  on  bearing  her  com- 
pany against  her  wish.  I  could  only  stand 
there,  like  a  man  in  a  trance,  drinking  in  the 
consciousness  of  Lillian's  presence.  It  is  well 
the  curtains  concealed  me,  or  I  fear  I  should 
not  have  had  the  sense  to  withdraw.  I  had  a 
good  look  at  her,  as  she  came  slowly  up  the 
walk,  the  great  key  of  the  hall -door  in  her 
hand.  They  had  asked  permission  to  visit  their 
old  home,  that  there  might  appear  nothing 
hidden  about  it.  She  looked  eagerly  from  side 
to  side,  as  if  recalling  every  bush  and  shrub. 
Not  even  the  ghastly  shadow  of  this  tragedy 
could  wholly  obscure  the  bloom  and  round- 
ness of  her  youthful  face  :  time  alone  could 
complete  the  work  which  sorrow  had  begun  ; 
but  she  was  pale,  for  her,  and  the  enchanting 
gayety  of  expression  was  gone. 

My  door  was  fastened,  and,  as  I  knew  that 
the  governess  would  take  the  precaution  to 
precede  the  others  and  divert  their  attention,  I 
gave  myself  no  uneasiness  about  being  discov- 
ered. I  heard  Inez  give  one  of  her  little 
shrieks  as  she  entered  the  hall,  and  I  thought 
about  the  clock  which  I  had  set  going. 

"  I  must  stop  that,"  I  thought. 

' '  I  will  not  stay  one  moment.  I  know  the 
house  is  haunted,"  I  heard  the  Cuban  girl  cry, 
while  the  others,  with  lower  voices,  strove  to 
pacify  her  alarm. 

Presently  they  came  up  stairs,  Miss  Miller, 
as  most  courageous,  taking  the  advance,  look- 
ing into  all  the  chambers  as  they  passed  along. 
She  laughed  lightly,  when,  trying  mine,  she 
found  it  locked. 

"I  told  you,  Inez,  the  owners  had  been 
about  the  place.  Of  course,  they  take  care  of 
their  property — probably  visit  it  every  few 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


57 


days.  For  all  I  know,  they  keep  the  clock 
wound  all  the  time.  They  have  fastened  up 
this  room, — bed-linen  in  it,  probably,  or 
something  they  are  afraid  might  be  carried  off." 

"Oh,  let  us  go  down.  I  don't  like  it  up 
here  at  all.  I'm  sorry  I  came  ;  but  Lillian 
would  have  her  own  way." 

I  longed  to  hear  my  cousin's  voice. 
'  "This  morning  you  said  you  would  like  to 
come,"  she  spoke,  soft,  clear,  as  she  always 
spoke. 

"  Oh,  but  I  changed  my  mind.  If  the  house 
was  full  of  company  it  would  be  different ;  but 
it  is  so  cold,  so  gloomy !  I  wonder  if  the  Cha- 
teaubriands  will  be  here  next  summer  ?" 

No  one  answered.  The  other  two  were  not 
dreaming  of  summer  festivals.  Soon  they 
made  the  round  and  descended  the  staircase. 
Presently,  I  heard  the  sound  of  weeping  in  the 
next  room,  which  had  been  Dr.  Meredith's 
sleeping-chamber,  the  death-room  of  the  first 
wife,  the  bridal-chamber  of  the  last.  I  knew  that 
Lillian  had  gone  there  to  give  way  to  her  sor- 
row.  Every  sob  she  uttered  struck  to  my  heart. 

In  a  few  moments  some  one  else  rushed  in, 
and  I  heard  Inez  cry : 

' '  Miss  Miller  went  off  to  the  laboratory,  and 
left  me  entirely  alone,  as  if  she  did  not  know  I 
would  be  frightened  to  death.  I  ran  up  here  to 
find  you.  I  would  not  stay  alone  for  the  world. 
What  are  you  crying  for,  child  ?    Oh,  I  know." 

There  was  a  brief  silence  ;  even  Inez  could 
forget  herself  for  an  interval,  in  this  place.  She 
was  the  first  to  speak  again. 

"  Lillian,  I  should  think  you  might  answer 
jme,  now !  You  know  what  I  asked  you  this 
morning.  I  don't  see  anything  to  prevent, 
now  that  Miss  Miller  has  come  ;  I  could  go 
home  with  her,  do  my  shopping,  and  come 
iback.  You  must  have  money  to  spare,  now 
'that  your  quarter's  pay  has  come  in." 

I  did  not  hear  what  was  said  in  answer ; 
but  Inez  spoke  up  in  the  shrill  voice  which  was 
hers  when  she  was  in  a  passion. 

"  My  clothes  are  dreadfully  shabby.  I  did 
not  have  opportunity  to  replenish  them,  after 
the  sea-voyage,  which  spoiled  what  few  I  had, 
before — before  you  know  what.  And  we  had 
only  enough  to  do  at  the  time  we  made  up 
our  mourning.  I  wish  now  the  doctor  had 
istopped  on  our  way  here,  in  New  York,  and 
Ibought  me  the  jewels  he  promised  me.  I 
should  have  them,  at  least.  But  he  was  in  such 
la  hurry  to  get  home  !  He  promised  to  take  me 
|to  the  city  soon.  I  think  now,  Lillian,  you 
ought  to  keep  your  father's  promise.  I  must  go 
to  New  York  !  " 

Again  the  unheard  reply,  and  again  the  pas- 
sionate voice. 


"Avaricious?  Yes,  I  did  not  think  it  of 
you !  Some  of  that  money  is  mine.  I  gave 
guitar-lessons  to  two  pupils.  I  ought  to  have 
a  great  deal  for  that !  Never  mind,  Lillian 
Meredith,  I  shall  not  long  be  your  slave  ;  I 
shall  not  long  hide  myself  in  this  dull  village. 
I  am  accustomed  to  a  different  life.  If  I  had 
known  to  what  I  was  coming,  I  would  have 
staid  in  California.  I  will  go  to  New  York,  I 
tell  you.    I  must  see  Arthur  Miller  !  ' ' 

"Oh,  Inez!"  burst  from  my  cousin's  lips, 
"  can  not  you  wait  until  he  comes  to  see  you? 
Such  conduct  would  not  be  proper." 

' '  Proper  ?  I  hate  propriety  !  He  will  not 
come  to  see  me.  I  hear  he  is  engaged  to  Miss 
Chateaubriand  ;  and  I  must  see  him  and  ask 
him  if  he  dares  coquette  with  her,  after  he  has 
told  me  that  he  loved  me." 

' 1  So  soon  ?    Oh,  Inez  ! ' ' 

"It  is  not  so  very  soon.  I  did  not  propose 
to  marry  him  until  after  my  year  of  mourning 
has  expired. ' ' 

"And  you  have  'already  forgotten  my 
father  ?" 

"  No,  I  have  not  forgotten  him.  He  was  my 
good  friend.  But  I  never  loved  him  !  You  did 
not  suppose  a  young  girl  bike  me  could  love  an 
old  man  like  that !  He  was  kind  to  me.  like 
a  father,  and  I  married  him  because  there  was 
nothing  else  forme  to  do.  He  was  very  fine — 
a  gentleman — but  not  like  Arthur  Miller  !  You 
must  acknowledge  there  was  a  difference,  Lil- 
lian." 

' '  I  say  it  is  more  natural  for  me  to  love  a 
person  of  my  own  age  and  tastes."  continued 
the  Cuban,  when  she  gained  no  reply,  "just  oe 
you  will  when  you  have  a  suitor.  Perhaps  yon 
are  jealous?"  with  a  mocking  laugh.  "I  be 
lieve  he  fancied  you  before  I  came.  Ah  !  all  1 
am  afraid  of  is  that  he  is  a  coquette.  Lillian, 
if  we  could  find  that  box  of  gold,  I  think  he 
would  marry  me.  It  is  because  I  am  poor  and 
Miss  Chateaubriand  is  rich.  But  he  loves  me 
best ;  I  know  that.' ' 

Poor  Lily  sighed  a  sigh  so  much  of  a  groan 
that  I  heard  it  where  I  stood.  Poor  child  !  I 
could  only  pray  that  a  marriage,  or  something 
else,  might  quickly  free  her  from  such  compan- 
ionship. Presently.  Inez  began,  in  a  coaxing 
voice,  putting  aside  her  passion  : 

"Lily,  sweet,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  some- 
thing which  I  have  never  before  mentioned.  1 
knew  the  doctor  hid  that  gold  the  night  before 
i  he  died.  I  complained  of  having  it  in  the 
I  room  with  us  ;  said  I  was  afraid  we  should 
1  be  murdered  if  we  kept  so  much  gold  in  our 
!  closet.  I  got  up  such  a  panic  about  it, — you 
'  know  how  timid  I  am,  Lillian  ! — that,  at  last, 
|  he  indulged  me  by  removing  it.    He  said  he 


58 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


knew  where  there  was  a  very  safe  place  where 
burglars  would  never  think  of  looking  for  it, 
and  he  tugged  and  rolled  the  box  away  and 
came  back,  after  almost  an  hour,  when  I  was 
actually  asleep,  and  woke  me  up  by  saying, 
laughingly,  that '  I  was  safe  now.'  Why  do 
you  look  so  surprised  ?  " 

My  cousin's  voice  was  inaudible. 

"  At  first,  I  was  too  frightened.  I  was  afraid 
they  would  think  strange  of  it  after  what  hap- 
pened. Afterwards,  I  thought,  if  I  told  of  it  so 
late,  it  would  look  stranger  still.  Indeed,  in- 
deed, I  have  tried  very  hard  to  find  it.  If  we 
could  only  find  it,  Lily,  we  should  be  rich. 
You  could  give  up  that  dreary  school,  and  Ar- 
thur would  marry  me.  Oh,  I  wish  we  could, 
now,  before  it  is  too  late." 

I  think  my  cousin  asked  if  she  had  never  told 
any  one,  for  Inez  answered: 

"  Never — that  is — nobody  but  Arthur." 

"  You  should  not  have  told  him  !"  exclaim- 
ed Lillian,  quite  loudly^ggk 

"  Don't  you  think  if  y/fjti  and  Miss  Miller  and 
I  were  to  search  everywhere,  we  might  find  it  ?  I 
can  not  tell  you  how  I  have  looked, — hours  and 
days  in  all.  But,  there  she  comes.  Don't 
speak  of  it  to-night ;  it  is  getting  too  late.  But 
to-morrow  or  some  time." 

The  voice  of  the  governess  now  mingled  with 
theirs  ;  presently  they  went  down,  and  looking 
out,  I  saw  Lillian  and  Inez  walking  rapidly 
away.  It  was  nearly  dark.  I  wished  to  see 
gram'me  before  the  old  creature  was  in  bed,  and 
I  desired  my  interview  with  Miss  Miller  to  be 
brief.  I  had  decided  not  to  confide  to  her  at 
pr^ent  the  important  discovery  I  had  made. 
If  she  were  not  honestly  anxious  for  the  truth, 
it  would  be  placing  the  weapon  in  her  -hand 
with  which  to  defeat  me. 

She  came  to  the  door  and  knocked,  and  we 
descended  to  the  parlor  together. 

"I  sent  my  companions  away,"  she  said. 
"  They  wished  to  come,  and,  to  avoid  suspicion, 
I  was  obliged  to  allow  them .  Did  you  see  Lil- 
lian ?  You  must  have  had  a  cheerless  day  of 
it  here,   Do  you  go  back  to-night  ?' ' 

"  Probably, — but  I  will  not  say  certainly." 

"  Do  you  find  traces  of  other  spirits  haunting 
this  house  besides  ourselves  ?' ' 

"  I  think  there  have  been  others  here." 

"  Is  my  cousin  well  ?  is  her  school  a  success  ?' ' 

"  She  is  well,  but  very  sad.  I  think  the  care 
of  that  Cuban  girl  more  onerous  to  her  than 
the  charge  of  the  school.  Both  united  will  soon 
tell,  even  on  her  young  vitality." 

"I  think  your  brother  has  made  love  to 
Inez,  Miss  Miller.  I  shall  be  glad  when  they 
can  be  decently  married, — for  Lily's  sake." 

"He  shall  never  marry  her,"  she  cried. 


"Do  you  think  I  would  submit  to  that?  I 
would  rather  see  him  dead.  He  is  engaged  to 
Miss  Chateaubriand,  and  they  will  be  married 
early  next  summer." 

"  Then  he  is  a  villain,"  I  said,  coolly,  "fox 
I  know  he  has  made  love  to  Inez. ' ' 

"Well,  how  could  he  help  it?  Say  rather 
that  she  made  love  to  him — that  will  be  nearer 
the  truth.  Still,  I  want  you  to  understand  that 
I  do  not  defend  Arthur.  He  is  vain,  frivolous, 
without  any  fixed  principles ;  and,  I  am  afraid 
unless  he  soon  marries  and  settles  down,  will  be- 
come dissipated.  I  do  not  like  the  new  habits  he 
is  forming.  I  do  not  know  how  he  continues  to 
make  so  much  money,  though  he  talks  largely 
of  his  stock  operations.  I  do  not  entirely  ap- 
prove of  Miss  Chateaubriand, — but  she  is  good 
enough  for  him.  I  should  desire  to  see  him 
marry  Lillian,  only  he  is  not  worthy  of  her.  I 
know  it  as  well  as  you.  I  have  done  what  I 
could  for  him,  as  a  sister ;  I  have  been  sister  ] 
and  mother  to  him.  He  no  longer  respects  my  , 
advice.  Henceforth  he  must  make  or  break  his  f 
own  fortunes." 

She  spoke  sadly,  and  I  pitied  her. 

"He  ought  to  be  advised  of  one  thing,"  I  ? 
said  ;  "  that  it  is  not  safe  to  trifle  with  a  person  j 
like  Inez  Meredith.  Her  impulses  carry  her  ( 
judgment  quite  away.    She  is  revengeful,  too."  D 

"  I  know  it, — but  as  he  makes  his  bed,  so  he  • 
must  lie  in  it ;  I  have  warned  him. ' ' 

"  I  think  I  know  of  a  way  of  disposing  of  D 
her,  which  will  relieve  Lillian,  yourself,  and  all  j  ff 
concerned,"  I  said,  after  a  little  hesitation. 

I  saw  no  reason  for  keeping  from  my  com-  ^ 
panion  the  fact  of  Don  Miguel  de  Almeda's  re- 1  ^ 
lationship  to  Inez,  since  it  now  appeared  that  ^ 
Miss  Miller  was  aware  of  my  residence  in  the  ^ 
city,  and  of  my  assumed  name.  I  could  ask  her 
not  to  allow  the  affair  of  the  silver  key  to  be  ^ 
made  public,  and  she  would  have  as  much  ob- 
ject as  I  in  preventing  it. 

"  How  is  that?"  0! 

I  answered  her  by  telling  her  of  the  Don,  his 
recognition  of  the  silver  key,  and  his  apparent  y, 
interest  in  his  cousin.  t 

"  I  am  quite  certain  he  would  take  her  to  her 
friends  in  Cuba,"  I  concluded,  "  and  that  she  jk 
would  be  glad  to  go.  She  imagines  herself  in  l: 
love  with  your  brother,  because,  for  the  time  t 
being,  he  is  the  only  object  upon  which  her  f( 
roving  fancy  can  conveniently  settle  ;  but,  once  t, 
let  her  have  the  opportunity  to  pass  into  a 
sphere  where  she  can  throw  off  all  memory  of  l5r 
her  distasteful  life  here,  and  she  will  eagerly  ac-  t 
cept  it." 

"  I  think  so,"  responded  Miss  Miller,  evi- 
dently  gratified.  ' '  We  can  ask  nothing  better 
than  that, — it  is  far  better  than  she  deserves,"  t 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


59 


she  added,  bitterly  ;  still,  I  don't  know  that  it 
is  for  us  to  pass  judgment  upon  her,  or  to  pun- 
ish her.  She  will  get  her  deserts  in  the  next 
world,  if  not  in  this." 

1  then  told  Miss  Miller  what  I  had  overheard 
Inez  confess — that  Doctor  Meredith  had  him- 
self taken  the  box  from  the  closet  and  concealed 
it,  the  night  before  his  death,  at  her  instiga- 
tion. "Now,"  said  I,  "this  is  a  fact  of  the 
utmost  importance.  It  makes  one  of  two  the- 
ories certain.  Either  Inez  is  herself  both  mur- 
deress and  robber — and,  heartily  as  I  despise 
her,  I  do  not  conceive  that  she  has  either  cun- 
ning or  courage  to  execute  these  desperate 
crimes — or  else  some  inmate  of,  or  visitor  to, 
this  house,  happened,  or  purposely  watched,  to 
see  the  doctor  dispose  of  that  box,  and  formed 
the  resolution  to  compass  his  death  in  order  to 
secure  the  tempting  treasure.  It  would  seem 
as  if  only  one  of  the  family  could  have  poisoned 
him  in  the  manner  it  was  done.  "Who  else 
would  bring  him  wine,  and  from  what  hand, 
except  the  hand  of  a  friend,  would  he  accept  it  ?" 

We  looked  each  other  full  in  the  face.  It 
was  deep  twilight  now,  but  the  eyes  of  both 
were  blazing,  and  we  each  looked  the  more  pale 
for  the  dusky  shadows  about  us.  I  was  trying 
to  read  her  inmost  soul,  and  she  was  thinking, 
no  doubt,  strange  thoughts  of  me.  It  was  as 
if  circumstances  compelled  us  to  suspect  each 
other.  Had  there  been  any  servants  whose 
conduct  made  them  liable  to  suspicion,  then 
our  speculations  would  not  have  taken  so  nar- 
row a  range.  For  the  moment,  all  the  vague 
impressions  we  had  received  of  the  Cuban  girl's 
wickedness  faded  out — nothing  seemed  more 
improbable  than  that  she  should  have  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  catastrophe  :  with  eager, 
piercing  gaze,  we  searched  each  other. 

The  governess  was  the  first  to  break  the  spell. 

"  In  vain ;"  she  said;  "man  by  man  was 
never  seen. *  Let  us  not  foolishly  anger  each 
other.  All  we  can  do  is  to  discover  the  truth 
by  patient  investigation.  How  soon,  after 
your  return  to  the  city,  shall  Inez  have  reason 
to  expect  her  cousin  ?" 

1 '  As  soon  as  he  chooses  to  seek  her.  I  shall 
see  him  within  one  or  two  days  of  my  return. 
I  must  first  give  myself  time  to  settle  my  own 
small  affairs,  for  I  shall  not  remain  in  New 
York  after  I  have  sent  Don  Miguel  to  Hamp- 
ton." 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  know  you  are  driven 
away  for  this  cause.  Why  do  you  change 
again  ?  I  pledge  you  my  word  of  honor  that 
you  shall  not  be  molested  from  any  cause  aris- 
ing out  of  this,  or  which  I  can  prevent." 

"Nay,  you  can  not  promise  for  others.  I 
shall  not  rashly  place  my  life  in  any  one's  hands. 


Don  Miguel,  when  he  comes  here  and  hears  the 
story  of  his  cousin's  widowhood,  will  at  once 
see  that  the  young  man  who  had  the  key,  was 
the  runaway  and  suspected  nephew  of  the 
doctor.  He  may  feel  it  his  duty  to  denounce 
me." 

"I  will  persuade  him  to  a  different  course." 

"You  could  hardly  give  good  reasons  for 
doing  so,  without  causing  him  to  think  strangely 
of  you.  I  shall  again  change  my  place  and 
name.  And  I  may  as  well  bid  you  farewell 
here  and  now,  Miss  Miller,  as  I  wish  to  run  over 
and  see  my  old  friend,  Gram' me  Hooker,  before 
she  is  in  bed. ' ' 

"  Yes,  it  is  time  I  was  going.  Well,  good- 
bye." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  I  touched  it,  and  she 
was  gone.  If  it  had  not  been  for  her  and  her 
brother,  I  felt  that  I  should  not  have  been  the 
nameless  wanderer  which  I  was  ;  my  bitter  en- 
mity could  not  change  into  friendship  in  an 
hour  ;  though  I  had  reversed  many  of  my  first 
opinions,  I  still  felt  harshly  towards  the  gov- 
erness. 

CHAFER  XHT. 

THE    NEW    YEAR'S  CALL. 

On  the  afternoon  of  New  Year's  day,  three 
women  sat  around  the  cheerful  fire  in  Lillian's 
little  parlor.  A  small  table  in  one  corner  held 
a  loaf  of  cake  and  bottle  of  wine,  for  such  friends 
as  were  intimate  enough  to  be  permitted  to  call, 
— the  pastor,  and  a  few  others,  were  expected 
in  the  course  of  the  day  or  evening,  but  the 
family  was  not  at  home  to  general  visitors. 
For  some  time  there  had  been  silence.  Miss 
Miller  sat  in  the  arm-chair,  her  elbow  resting 
on  the  arm,  her  chin  in  her  hand,  the  heavy 
square  brows  drawn  down,  and  the  deep  eyes 
shining  underneath  with  unshed  tears  ;  she  was 
gazing  into  the  bed  of  coals,  while  the  flush  of 
the  fire-light  playing  over  her  stern,  sallow 
face,  gave  it  a  bloom  which  was  no  longer  its 
due. 

Inez  was  on  an  ottoman,  restless  as  usual, 
now  thrumming  her  guitar,  then  getting  up 
and  going  to  the  window,  only  to  resume  her 
seat  with  a  sigh  and  a  querulous  word.  She 
wore  almost  her  only  ornaments,  a  brooch  and 
ear-rings  of  pearls ;  a  few  white  flowers  were 
placed  in  the  heavy  braids  of  her  purple-black 
hair.  Lillian  sat  opposite  Miss  Miller,  dressed 
with  her  usual  plainness,  a  few  geranium  leaves 
lying  in  their  fragrant  greenness  amid  the  glos- 
sy gold  of  her  curls,  being  her  only  attempt  at 
keeping  holiday.  Some  kind  of  embroidery 
occupied  her  fingers,  and  if  she  sometimes  made 
a  misstitch  from  the  tears  which  dimmed  her 
eyes,  she  patiently  wiped  them  away  and  began 


30 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


again.  The  slumberous  spell  of  the  silence  and 
the  warm  fire  quieted  even  Inez  at  last ;  she  sat 
full  fifteen  minutes  without  speaking  or  mov- 
ing, looking  listlessly  out  at  the  people  who 
passed. 

I  did  not  see  the  group  which  I  so  boldly  de- 
scribe ;  as  I  said  once  before,  the  links  of  my 
story,  needed  to  fill  up  the  gaps,  were  supplied 
by  others.  But  I  afterwards  felt  the  influence 
of  that  day  and  hour  on  my  own  life. 

"Don't  you  think  Arthur  will  come  to  see 
us  to-day  ?"  Inez  finally  broke  the  silence  by 
inquiring.  "  Didn't  you  say,  Miss  Miller,  that 
he  would  be  here  during  your  visit  ?' ' 

"  He  said  he  might  come  to  escort  me  home. 
But  I'm  quite  positive  he  will  not  be  here  to- 
day. He  has  a  great  many  friends  in  the  city, 
and  this,  as  you  know,  is  a  great  day  there.  He 
is  too  fond  of  pleasure  to  follow  me  out  to  this 
dull  village  before  his  New  Year's  calls  are 
made.' ' 

"  We  are  dull,  I  know,"  said  Inez,  bitterly. 
"  You  don't  flatter  us,  Miss  Miller.  You  are 
not  as  great  a  flatterer  as  your  brother.  Of 
course  he  has  troops  of  beautiful  lady  friends 
who  are  dressed  in  jewels  and  flowers,  and  stand 
in  their  grand  parlors  to  receive  him.  He  would 
be  foolish  to  think  of  us  at  such  a  time.  Once 
I  had  all  these  things,  and  I  mean  to  have  them 
again  !  No  one  cares  for  you  unless  you  are 
able  to  keep  up  style.  It  is  worth  making  an 
effort  to  get  it.  I  am  as  handsome  as  any  of 
them,  I  know,  when  I  can  dress  myself  pro- 
perly. Oh,  I  am  so  tired  of  this  village  !  Do 
you  really  think  he  will  come  at  all,  Miss  Mil- 
ler?" 

"  I  am  nowise  certain  about  it." 

"  There  !"  cried  Inez,  "  there  is  some  one  on 
the  steps  now.  Perhaps  it  is  he  !  The  train 
came  in  a  short  time  ago. ' ' 

Miss  Miller  was  also  thoroughly  aroused. 
She  had  been,  for  two  or  three  days,  expecting  a 
visitor  to  inquire  for  Mrs.  Meredith — but  not 
her  brother  Arthur. 

' '  How  slow  your  old  servant  is  growing, 
Lillian,"  exclaimed  Inez,  impatiently.  "He 
has  had  to  knock  the  second  time." 

"Don't  find  fault  with  her,"  said  Lillian, 
softly.  ' '  What  should  we  do  without  her  ? 
Here  she  comes  with  a  card." 

The  old  woman  handed  it  to  Miss  Meredith  ; 
she  never  would  acknowledge  the  other  as  her 
mistress,  and  had  given  the  card  to  Lillian,  al- 
though Inez  had  been  particularly  inquired  for. 

"Don  Miguel  de  Almeda,"  read  the  young 
girl,  aloud. 

"  My  cousin,"  cried  Inez,  flinging  her  guitar 
to  one  side,  springing  to  her  feet  and  clapping 
her  hands  with  the  joy  and  excitement  of  a 


child.  She  was  about  to  rush  to  the  door,  then 
hesitated,  changed  color,  trembled,  and  hung 
back. 

"  Shall  I  tell  her  to  show  him  in?"  asked 
Miss  Miller. 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  am  so  glad,"  murmured  Inez, 
recovering  from  the  check,  whatever  it  was, 
which  had  embarrassed  her  feelings.  "  Lillian, 
you  will  ,like  him  so !  There  is  no  one  here  to 
compare  with  him. ' ' 

The  next  moment  the  young  gentleman  en- 
tered, and  the  Cuban  girl,  springing  forward, 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  with  a  little  cry. 
He  spoke  with  her  a  moment  or  two  in  Spanish; 
Lillian  did  not  understand  it,  but  Miss  Miller 
did;  they  were  words  natural  to  the  occasion  of 
greeting,  to  affection  and  surprise. 

"  My  little  cousin  grown  up,  married,  and  a 
widow  !"  he  exclaimed,  after  the  first  welcome. 
"  How  strange  it  seems  tome!" 

"Yes,"  said  Inez,  bursting  into  tears,  "a 
widow,  Miguel.  Could  you  believe  it?"  and 
she  looked  piteously  at  her  black  dress. 

Then  she  remembered  others  enough  to  wipe 
her  eyes  and  introduce  her  friends. 

"My  little  cousin's  step-daughter!  the 
quaintest  thing  of  all !"  he  said,  smilingly,  as 
Lillian  gave  him  her  hand  ;  and  his  dark  eyes, 
warm  with  the  tropic  glow  of  his. nature,  rested 
admiringly  on  her  fairest  face. 

"  I  too,  am  a  relative — remember  that !"  he 
continued,  still  with  a  gayety  that  was  charm- 
ing because  so  natural,  and  releasing  the  little 
hand,  he  turned  to  bow  to  Miss  Miller. 

Summer  seemed  to  have  come  into  the  small, 
low  room.  Lillian  could  but  look  at  him  more 
than  she  wished.  It  was  her  first  meeting  with 
one  of  the  opposite  sex  in  every  way  fitted  for 
her  companionship.  Utmost  ease  of  manner, 
ready,  agreeable  conversation,  a  grace,  partly 
inherent  and  partly  the  result  of  cultivation  and 
constant  intercourse  with  the  world— a  dark, 
glowing  beauty — he  lighted  the  little  sitting- 
room  with  a  brightness  it  never  before  had  worn. 
He  apparently  noticed  no  want  of  the  luxuries  to 
which  he  was  accustomed,  giving  of  his  best  to 
these  three  ladies  in  return  for  their  hospitalities. 

When  Lillian  went  out  to  give  orders  for  tea, 
Miss  Miller  followed,  knowing  that  Don  Miguel 
would  desire  to  ask  his  cousin  many  questions, 
which  he  could  not  ask  in  their  presence. 

The  two  were  alone  together  nearly  an  hour. 
When  they  were  summoned  to  the  tiny  supper- 
room,  Inez  came  out  in  a  blaze  of  splendor, 
which  caused  Lillian  to  look  at  her  in  astonish- 
ment. 

She  had  never  seen  her  so  brilliant,  not  even 
before  the  doctor's  death.  Her  sallow  cheeks 
were  like  roses,  her  whole  face  sparkled. 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


Gl 


"My  cousin  is  so  good,"  she  cried.  "He 
has  invited  me  to  go  to  the  city  for  a  fortnight 
or  more.  He  says  he  will  engage  a  private 
parlor  for  me  at  the  Xew  York  Hotel,  and  I 
shall  go  every  evening  to  an  opera,  or  the  the- 
atre. It  will  be  perfectly  delicious,  after  this 
dreary,  moping  winter  !  He  is  going  to  write 
to  Uncle  Juan  about  me.  I  expect  I  shall  go 
back  to  Havana  next  spring." 

"  It  will  add  greatly  to  Inez'  pleasure,  I  am 
sure,  if  Hiss  Meredith  will  consent  to  accom- 
pany her.  She  requires  a  more  sedate  friend  to 
keep  her  raptures  in  check.  I  only  dare  to  ask 
it  in  her  name  ;  but  it  would  make  us  both 
very  happy." 

"  0,  thank  you.  But  I  am  one  of  that  class, 
who  are  bound  to  their  necessities.  Xext  "Wed- 
nesday my  school  re-opens." 

"Your  school.  Truly,  my  cousin  did  tell  me 
that  you  two  young  ladies  were  engaged  in 
earning  your  own  living.  "But  I  did  not  realize. 
It's  terrible  !  Why,  I  can  not  yet  understand 
it.  All  I  know  is  that  it  must  come  to  an  end. 
My  cousin  giving  lessons,  and  you,  Miss  Mere- 
dith?" 

The  Don  did  not  know  the  other  lady  was  a 
teacher  by  profession,  or  he  would  have  been 
less  demonstrative  in  his  indignation. 

Lillian  laughed,  almost  gayly,  as  she  re- 
plied: 

"  Pnat  horrifies  you,  I  have  no  doubt.  But, 
here,  we  do  not  think  it  so  frightful.  I  think 
work  really  has  been  to  my  benefit.  Inez,  per- 
haps, cannot  say  as  much.  A  very  little  is  too 
much  for  her." 

"Oh,  yes!  Cousin  Miguel,  you  can  not  im- 
agine what  a  slave  I  have  been  ! — two  lessons, 
twice  a  week,  on  the  guitar,  to  the  stupid  little 
girls.  What  would  my  father  have  said  to  that  ? 
In  Havana  we  would  not  do  such  things.  But 
now  I  am  going  to  the  city  with  you,  and  can 
forget  all  this  sadness.  Lily,  you  can  tell  the 
children  I  will  not  teach  them  any  more. ' ' 

"How,  after  the  two  weeks  pleasuring  are 
over  ? ' '  asked  Miss  Miller. 

"  Ah,  I  suppose — I'm  sure  I  don'tknow — but 
cousin  Miguel — ' ' 

"Will  take  care  of  his  little  girl,  hereafter. 
Certainly,  Miss  Miller,  now  that  we  have  found 
her  we  shall  try  to  keep  her.  I  shall  write  at 
once  to  my  father  and  mother ;  and,  unless 
there  is  something  strong  enough  to  hold  her 
here,  shall  take  her  back  with  me  when  I  re- 
turn, in  February.  How  is  it,  Inez?  are  you 
not  homesick  for  your  bowers  of  orange-flowers 
and  ease  ? " 

She  glanced  at  him,  blushed,  and  looked 
down  at  her  plate. 

"  I  shall  decide  before  the  end  of  the  fort- 


night," she  answered,  attempting  to  cover  her 
confusion  with  a  laugh. 

Miss  Miller  and  Lillian  both  knew  that  she 
thought  of  Arthur.  If  he  was  irrevocably  lost 
to  her,  she  would  return  with  her  cousin  ;  but 
it  might  be  that  this  propitious  change  in  her 
circumstances,  this  favoring  of  titled  and 
wealthy  relatives,  would  draw  him  back  to 
her,  Place  her  in  a  worldly  position  equal  to 
Miss  Chateaubriand's,  and  she  would  engage  in 
the  rivalry,  with  spirit.  The  Don  did  not  par- 
ticularly notice  his  cousin's  embarrassment. 
Familiar  as  he  was  with  her  frivolous  nature,  he 
did  not  anticipate  that  the  widow  of  a  few  months 
had  already  engaged  in  another  affaire  de  cceur. 

The  2ST ew  Year's  day  closed  more  brightly 
than  it  began.    There  is  something  contagious 
in  the  buoyant  happiness  of  a  gay  and  care-free 
spirit.    Don  Miguel  endeavored  to  tone  himself 
down  to  a  seriousness  which  should  express  his 
sympathy,  yet  he  could  not  be  otherwise  than 
delightful.    Miss  Miller,  herself,  was  not  obliv- 
:  ious  to  his  powers  of  pleasing,  while  Lillian  ap- 
1  peared  more  like  her  old  gay  self  than  she  had 
'since  her  father's  death.    He  sang  the  newest 
songs,  accompanying  himself  on  the  piano  ;  then 
i  he  and  Inez  gave  the  other  old  Spanish  songs  to 
|  the  guitar. 

As  several  neighbors  called,  during  the  even- 
ing, all  Hampton  knew,  the  next  morning,  that 
a  Cuban  gentleman  had  come  in  quest  of  the 
dark-eyed  stranger  whom  the  doctor  had 
brought  into  their  midst.  His  wealth,  and  the 
general  splendor  of  his  dress  and  demeanor, 
were  not  dwarfed  in  the  describing. 

Don  Miguel  might  have  remained  several 
days,  but  his  cousin  was  so  eager  for  her  holiday 

I  excursion  that  she  fairly  coaxed  him  into  taking 

|  the  afternoon  train  into  the  city. 

"0,  lily,"  she  went  on,  as  the  other  assisted 

|  her  in  her  hurried  preparations,  "  I  am  so  sorry 

!  you  can  not  come  along  !  But  I  tell  you,  in 
confidence,  I  have  planned  it  all  out,  so  as  to 
change  this  gloomy  school-teaching.  You  shall 
marry  my  cousin  !  He  is  handsome  and  rich, 
and  I  know  you  can  easily  make  him  love  you, 
for  I  saw,  last  evening,  how  he  admired -you. 
I  shall  praise  you  to  him  all  the  time  I  am 
gone,  and  when  I  come  back,  I  shall  bring  him 
with  me, — that  is,  if  I  come  back  at  all,  which 
I  suppose  I  shall  for  a  few  weeks.  Don't  you 
think  him  magnificent  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Lillian,  "I  think  him  very 
agreeable ;  and  he  must  have  a  kind  heart  to 
indulge  you  as  he  does.  But  his  destiny  and 
mine  are  not  cast  in  the  same  mould  ;  he  is  de- 
serving of  some  one  brilliant  and  world-wise, 
like  himself.  He  would  not  think  of  me, — and 
then,  Inez,  it  is  not  our  custom,  here,  to 


62 


THE  FIGUKE  EIGHT. 


choose  a  lover  so  quickly.  I  do  not  like  to  have 
you  say  such  things.  Don't  speak  so  again  to 
me  ;  and  I  pray  you  don't  breathe  such  a  fool- 
ish thought  to  him.  It  would  destroy  all  my 
pleasure  in  his  society." 

"I  promise  you  I  will  say  nothing  then," 
said  Inez,  who  seldom  kept  her  promises. 
"  But  I  know  he  liked  you, — he  could  not  re- 
move his  eyes  from  you.  It  would  be  so  nice ! 
— I  thought  of  it  over  an  hour,  last  night.  I 
could  visit  you  in  Havana,  during  the  winter, 
and  you  could  spend  your  summers  at  the  North 
with  me." 

"Hush,  Inez,  I  will  not  listen.  If  yon  do 
not  change  the  subject  I  will  leave  you  to  do 
your  own  packing.  But,  as  to  your  remaining 
at  the  North,  is  that  settled?  " 

4 '  You  remember  what  I  told  you  Christmas 
Day.  If  Arthur  marries  that  girl,  I  suppose  I 
shall  have  to  go  home  to  my  uncle.  But  I  do ! 
not  think  to  go  down  to  New  York  for  nothing. 
Ah,  I  will  be  revenged  yet !  I  have  half  a 
mind  to  tell  Arthur  that  we  have  found  our 
box  of  gold,  that  you  have  divided  it  equally 
with  me,  and  that  you  will  probably  marry  my 
cousin.  You  will  see,  if  I  tell  him  that,  how 
he  will  run  after  us." 

"Inez,  Inez,  how  Tecklessly  your  tongue 
runs.  If  you  knew  how  it  hurt  me  to  hear  you, 
you  would  not  talk  so.  Shall  I  put  your 
Spanish  vail  and  mantilla  in  the  trunk  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  I  shall  wear  them  to  the  opera.  Lil- 
lian, don't  you  think  I  might  venture  to  lay 
aside  my  mourning  occasionally  now?  The 
doctor  has  been  dead  more  than  half  a  year." 

A  heavy  sigh  was  her  only  answer. 

"You  won't  decide  for  me.  Then  I  must 
decide  for  myself.  You  know,  Lily,  caro,  there 
is  so  much  at  stake  with  me — and  I  look  so  well, 
in  the  evening,  in  rose-color.  "Will  you  lend 
me  that  pearl  necklace  of  your  mother's?  I 
suppose,  really,  it  ought  to  be  mine,  but,  since 
she  gave  it  to  you  herself,  we  will  not  quarrel 
about  it.  I  will  be  very  careful  of  it,  and  it 
just  makes  out  my  set." 

Without  a  word,  .Lillian  went  to  her  room 
and  brought  the  little  casket  containing  her 
greatest  treasure  ;  she  scarcely  expected  ever 
to  have  it  returned  to  her,  and  she  placed  it  in 
the  trunk  with  dim  eyes.  She  had  loved  Inez 
so  much  when  her  father  brought  her  home 
and  asked  her  to  give  his  wife  a  place  in  her 
heart,  she  had  abandoned  herself  to  all  the 
pleasure  of  a  friendship  with  one  of  her  own 
age ;  but  now,  day  by  day,  she  was  being 
alienated  from  a  person  so  selfish  and  exacting, 
and  above  all,  so  untrue  to  her  revered  father's 
memory.  She  could  but  feel,  as  she  tied  Inez' 
bonnet-strings  and  kissed  her  good-bye,  that  it 


would  be  a  relief  to  be  free  for  a  time  from  hex 
complainings  and  freaks  of  behavior. 

"  A  good  riddance  !  "  spoke  Miss  Miller,  with 
emphasis,  as  the  village  hack  rolled  away  from 
the  gate  with  Don  Miguel  and  his  companion. 
"  If  he  can  endure  her  exactions  for  a  fortnight, 
you  will  have  quite  a  rest,  my  dear.  I  wish 
you  were  never  to  see  her  face  again." 

CHAPTEK  XIV. 

IN  VINCULUM. 

"I  shall  be  quite  alone  when  you,  too,  go 
away, ' '  said  Lillian,  trying  to  conceal  from  her 
friend  the  glow  which  had  risen  in  her  cheeks 
under  the  young  Don's  lingering  gaze.  "I 
wish  we  could  live  together  always,  you  and  I. ' ' 

"  So  do  I,  my  darling.  And  there  is  nothing 
in  the  world  to  prevent,  except  the  probability 
that  no  sooner  would  we  be  cosily  settled  to- 
gether, than  some  envious  man  would  come 
along  and  steal  you  away  from  me."  , 

"  But  I  should  not  go,  Miss.  Miller.  I  shall 
never  marry.  I  love  you  better  than  I  ever 
Shall  any  one  who  will  ask  me." 

4 '  Nay,  I  do  not  place  much  confidence  in 
such  assertions  made  by  an  untried  girl.  It  is 
to  be  expected  that  your  time  will  come  to  love, 
and  marry.  I  hope  it  may.  In  the  meantime, 
if  you  wish  it,  and  Inez  deserts  you,  I  will  come 
back  to  you.  There  will  be  enough  for  both  of 
us  to  do,  if  your  school  grows  with  the  village. 
We  will  have  a  model  school, — teach  all  the 
possible  and  impossible  accomplishments,  be 
fashionable,  and  ask  a  large  price.  Don't  yon 
think  we  can  manage  it?" 

' 4  My  dear  friend, ' '  replied  Lily,  clasping  her 
about  the  neck  ;  4  4  it  is  you  who  are  my  second 
mother  in  heart.    0,  how  I  love  you  !" 

She  did  not  understand  why  the  bosom  to 
which  she  clung  heaved  with  such  force,  as  if 
great  sobs  were  strangled  within ;  she  did  not 
understand  the  emotion,  but  she  knew  it  was 
,there  by  the  tumult  of  the  panting  breast,  and 
(she  drew  the  pale  face  down,  covering  it  with 
kisses,  as  forgetful  of  Don  Miguel  as  if  his  dark 
eyes  had  never  lingered  upon  hers. 

Miss  Miller  closed  her  visit  with  the  under- 
standing that  when  her  year's  engagement  had 
expired  with  the  Chateaubriand's  she  would  re- 
turn to  Hampton  and  to  Lillian.  This  promise 
was  comfort,  almost  happiness,  to  the  poor  child, 
whom  she  left  weeping  on  the  threshold  of  her 
lonely  little  home.  Ever  since  her  mother's 
death  Lillian  had  relied  on  her  governess ;  to 
have  that  faithful  friend  always  to  share  her 
cares  and  enlighten  her  inexperience,  was  the 
best  thing  she  could  ask  ;  and,  with  this  hope 
to  brighten  the  winter,  she  returned  quite  cheer- 
fully to  her  work. 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT, 


It  was  an  absolute  relief  to  have  Inez  away, 
since  she  was  probably  in  good  hands  and  en- 
joying herself;  that  the  trip  was  prolonged 
from  a  fortnight  to  three  weeks  gave  Lillian  no 
uneasiness ;  especially  as  she  received  a  polite 
note  from  Don  Miguel,  saying  that  his  cousin 
was  too  indolent  to  write,  and  deputed  him  to 
the  duty  of  letting  Miss  Meredith  know  that  she 
was  well,  and  so  pleased  with  her  visit  that  she 
proposed  extending  it  to  another  week. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  Inez  came  home,  and 
Don  Miguel  with  her. 

"Inez  had  led  him  such  a  round,"  he  de- 
clared, 4 '  that  he  was  tired  of  dissipation.  He 
came  to  Hampton  to  refresh  himself  with  a 
little  quiet," — and,  taking  a  room  at  the  village 
hotel,  he  endured,  without  murmuring,  such  ac- 
commodations as  were  provided  for  him,  spend- 
ing all  his  evenings  with  "his  relatives," 
|  taking  them  out  to  ride,  always,  on  Saturdays, 
|  and  grumbling  because  he  could  not  do  it  every 

I  day- 

"  That  terrible  school !"  he  said  one  day;  "  it 
is  a  perfect  ogre,  Cousin  Lillian.  I  could  not 
catch  a  glimpse  of  your  face,  while  that  rules 
regnant, — no,  not  if  I  were  perishing  of  ennui." 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  Inez  altogether  to  your- 
self. Since  she  gave  up  her  guitar-lessons,  she 
is  enabled  to  devote  herself  to  you.  I  think 
you  have  nothing  to  complain  of. ' ' 

"  Inez  is  well  enough  ;  she  keepB  me  busy,  to 
|  say  the  least ;  but,  between  you  and  me,  I 
i  like  my  northern  cousin  the  best." 

" Treason— rank  treason!"  laughed  Lillian, 
t  "  Inez,  did  you  hear  that  ?" — a  little  art  of  hers 
1  to  call  another  into  the  group,  for  something 
in  the  Don's  voice  and  look  warned  her  not  to 
3  prolong  a  duet  with  him. 
I  "Never  mind,  Inez,  stay  where  you  are.  I 
I  was  just  telling  Cousin  Lillian  that  I  preferred 
5  the  northern  snow-drop  to  the  southern  rose, 
d  Only,"  dropping  his  voice,  "you  are  too  much 
h  of  a  snow-drop,  cousin, — you  are  ice— frozen  to 
\  the  heart's  core  !" 

"  I  believe  I  am,"  replied  Lillian,  willing  he 
I  should  think  so. 

id  "If  I  only  dared  hope  that  the  fervor  of 
e- [southern  skies  would  melt  you,"  he  went  on, 
*  playfully,  but  with  a  tremor  in  his  voice  under 
1,  all. 

i  Miss  Meredith  did  not  hear  him  ;  she  had 
drawn  aside  the  curtain  and  bent  to  watch  the 
«)  "resonant  steam-eagle"  (resonant  eagle,  think 
ifi  of  that!)  mark  "upon  the  blasted  heaven  the 
I  measure  of  her  land," — or  what  used  to  be  her 
pe  land  before  Meredith  Place  was  sold  away  from 
9  her.  The  last  wreath  of  vapor  had  melted  in 
the  rosy  frost  of  sunset  before  she  turned  again, 


03 

with  a  careless  remark  on  an  entirely  different 
subject : 

"  My  mind  is  made  up  about  the  school,"  he 
continued,  determined  to  advance,  now  that  he 
had  taken  the  first  step.  "It  must  be  dis- 
missed— not  for  a  night,  but  all  time." 

"Per  contrary,"  responded  his  companion, 
"Miss  Miller's  plans  and  mine  are  laid  to  ex- 
tend it,  improve  it,  and  cause  it  to  flourish  like 
the  green  bay  tree.  I  see  plainly  now,  that  I 
was  created  for  no  other  purpose,  save  to  teach 
the  young  idea  how' to  shoot." 

"I  wish  they  were  all  shot,"  muttered  Don 
Miguel. 

A  little  silver  ring  of  firmness  in  her  voice 
warned  him  to  say  no  more  at  present ;  but  he 
was  a  man  with  a  will,  as  might  be  seen  by  the 
outline  of  his  thin  red  lips. 

Inez  had  returned  from  New  York  in  high 
spirits,  which  did  not  lose  their  buoyancy  in  a 
long  time.  The  world  was  an  entirely  different 
world  to  her  since  her  cousin's  appearance  on 
the  scenes.  She  kept  Lillian  up  and  awake  half 
the  first  night,  discoursing  upon  the  excitements 
of  her  visit,  and  displaying  the  presents  her 
cousin  had  purchased  for  her. 

"I  did  buy  a  few  dresses  which  were  not 
mourning,"  she  said,  speaking  a  little  rapidly 
at  first,  knowing  she  introduced  an  unpleasant 
subject.  "No  one  there  was  acquainted  with 
my  circumstances, — those  who  saw  me  did  not 
know  but  I  might  have  laid  aside  mourning  a 
year  ago.  I  will  not  wear  these  things  here  ; 
at  least,  not  yet,  but  there  I  saw  no  objection  ; 
do  you  ?  Look !  here  is  the  rose-colored  silk ! 
I  ordered  it  and  had  it  made  within  twenty-four 
hours  after  reaching  New  York.  I  wore  it  tho 
first  time  I  went  to  the  opera,  with  my  pearls. 
Miguel  provided  me  with  a  superb  fan  and 
bouquet,  and  I  wore  my  Spanish  mantilla  and 
vail,  with  white  flowers  in  my  hair.  Oh,  Lily, 
I  was  magnificent !  I  knew  that  before  I  left 
my  room ;  but  if  you  had  seen  the  glasses  lev- 
eled at  us  all  the  evening,  you  would  know  that 
I  did  not  flatter  myself.  Miguel,  you  see,  is 
very  handsome,  too,  and  his  foreign  air  and  my 
foreign  dress,  made  us  so  conspicuous.  I  was 
willing  it  should  be  seen  we  were  Spanish, — 
dark  eyes  and  hair  look  so  well  with  the  vail. 
Miguel  himself  told  me  I  was  the  star  of  the 
house.  And  oh,  Lily,  do  you  know,  Arthur 
came  in  late  with  the  Chateaubriands,  and  took 
seats  not  far  from  us !  When  he  saw  that  all 
the  lorgnettes  pointed  in  one  direction,  he  turned 
and  gazed  with  the  rest.  He  was  really  pale 
with  surprise.  I  gave  him  a  very  slight,  care- 
less bow,  which  he  might  share  with  Miss 
Chateaubriand,  who  was  staring,  too.  It  was 
a  most  delicious  evening  ;  the  music  turned  my 


64 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


head,  and  my  blood  danced  as  I  felt  how  col- 
orless and  passee  that  girl  looked  in  comparison 
with  myself.  She  had  on  a  blue  dress,  and  it 
was  not  becoming  to  her. 

"  The  next  day  I  sent  him  my  card,  and  Don 
Miguel's.  He  called  on  us  at  the  hotel ;  so 
did  the  Chateaubriands.  She  tried  to  vex  me 
by  saying  how  surprised  she  had  been  to  see  me 
at  the  opera,  not  knowing  I  was  in  town.  She 
scarcely  recognized  me  at  first,  not  supposing  I 
would  be  out  of  black  so  soon !  Spiteful,  wasn't 
it  ?  I  told  her  I  was  not  out  of  mourning,  but 
I  had  laid  it  aside  for  an  evening,  to  please  my 
dear  cousin,  Don  Miguel.  You  should  have 
seen  how  agreeable  she  made  herself  to  him, 
and  how  urgently  the  family  invited  me  to 
visit  them,  for  even  if  the  elder  one  is  engaged 
to  Arthur,  there  is  Miss  Sophie  yet  to  provide 
for !  I  was  quite  willing  to  reciprocate,  for  I 
knew  there  was  not  the  slightest  danger  to  my 
cousin  from  the  charms  of  any  one  :  he  had 
given  me  to  understand  that  his  heart  was  al- 
ready taken  captive." 

"Did  Arthur  say  nothing  positive  to  you 
during  your  stay?"  Lillian  asked;  "you  cer- 
tainly ought  to  know  before  this,  if  he  has  any 
intention  of  returning  to  you." 

"  He  had  already  committed  himself  to  her, 
I  know  that ;  but  he  does  not  love  her — he  is 
going  to  marry  her  to  secure  hi3  position  in  so- 
ciety. But  he  did  love  me,  and  does  yet — I 
can  see  it  in  every  look ;  he  is  ashamed  to  say 
so  now,  for  fear  I  will  despise  him — but  I  can 
see  it  :  it  is  my  revenge  to  see  how  he  regrets 
his  falsehood.  I  begged  him,  last  autumn,  to 
be  patient  about  our  finding  the  money,  but  he 
was  not,  and  now  he  is  nicely  entangled. 
Bertha  Chateaubriand  shall  never  marry  him  ! 
I  can  win  him  away  from  her  yet — and  I'm 
going  to  do  it,  out  of  revenge !" 

' 1  I  should  think  you  would  scorn  a  lover  like 
Arthur  Miller  too  deeply  even  to  seek  to  tri- 
umph over  him  !" 

"  I  don't  scorn  him,"  cried  Inez,  passionately. 
"  I  know  if  it  were  you,  you  would  despise  him  ; 
but  I  love  him  still,  and  I  can't  be  cruel  to  him ; 
it  is  her  I  hate !  I  shall  get  him  away  from 
her  yet.  They  are  not  to  be  married  until 
midsummer,  and  they  are  coming  out  the  first 
of  May — the  Chateaubriands  are — to  Meredith 
Place  again  ;  that  will  give  me  all  the  oppor- 
tunity I  want.  I  shall  try  to  coax  Miguel  not 
to  return  to  Havana  in  the  spring ;  and  I  do 
not  think" — archly — "that  he  is  as  anxious 
about  it  as  he  was  when  he  first  came." 

All  Inez'  private  conversations  were  in  the 
same  strain,  until  Lillian  avoided  her  company 
as  much  as  possible  during  those  hours  when 
they  were  alone. 


But  she  could  not  shake  off  the  torment,  and 
she  could  not  get  rid  of  Don  Miguel.  Perhaps 
she  did  not  wish  to.  Her  life  was  far  brighter 
than  in  the  old  desolate  days.  No  heart  is  so 
self-sustained  as  not  to  feel  the  pleasure  of 
another's  devotion.  There  always  was  a  vase 
of  hot-house  flowers  on  her  desk — Don  Miguel 
brought  them  when  he  came  from  the  city 
where  he  usually  visited  once  or  twice  a  week 
Then  he  always  brought  fresh  music,  and  they 
must  go  over  it  together.  She  could  not  resist 
or  put  aside  his  constant  delicate  attentions,  of 
which  Inez  received  her  share,  and  which 
seemed  to  originate  simply  in  his  care  for  her — 
of  course  his  other  cousin  could  not  be  left  out 
of  all  these.  One  thing  she  did  refuse,  which 
was,  to  receive  any  other  gift  than  flowers 
music,  or  a  book.  His  own  sense  of  propriety 
induced  him  to  accept  her  decision,  yet  it  was 
plainly  to  be  seen  how  the  generous  and  gallant 
young  Cuban  fretted  under  the  restriction 
Inez  had  no  modesty  about  accepting  unlimited 
stores  of  pretty  things ;  her  severest  trial  wae 
the  concession  she  made  to  Lillian's  feelings  in 
keeping  on  black  dresses ;  and  every  day  she 
feasted  her  eyes  on  the  treasures  she  had  ac 
cumulated  for  the  "better  time  coming." 

Inez,  in  her  somber  silks  and  velvets,  movec! 
about  in  state  ;  but  her  friend  never  divergec 
from  the  plain  garments  befitting  her  income 
and  occupation.  In  these  she /appeared  more 
lovely  to  the  fiery-hearted  Don  than  all  the 
fair  ladies  whose  habit  it  was  to  display  theh 
fine  dresses  for  his  admiration. 

It  was  so  unusual  to  find  so  much  dignity  o 
character  in  one  so  young  and  beautiful  as  Lil 
lian,  that  this  moral  charm,  even  more  thai 
her  fair  and  exquisite  features,  fascinated  one 
accustomed  to  finding  women  impulsive,  selfish 
and  trifling,  after  the  manner  of  his  own  cousin 
The  feeling  grew  upon  him  until  it  might  b< 
noticed  he  hesitated  in  expressing  opinion 
which  might  in  any  way  displease  her. 

"Lily  would  make  a  Puritan  of  him,"  Ine 
said,  in  her  scornful  way. 

It  is  a  fact,  that  men  may  jest  about,  an< 
stand  in  awe  of  Puritans  like  Lillian,  but  whei 
they  have  their  best  and  most  enduring  love  t 
offer,  they  are  apt  to  lay  it  upon  such  spotles 
shrines. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   GOLD  COINEE. 

John  Milton,  M.D.,  had  vanished  utterl 
from  the  face  of  the  earth  ;  his  landlady  kne1 
him  no  more  ;  his  few  forlorn  patients  looke 
up  other  young  doctors,  who  would  attend  t 
their  ailments  and  charge  moderate  fees.  H 
had  concluded  to  emigrate  to  the  far  West,  an 
had  taken  a  through-ticket  to  Chicago,  the 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


(*5 


the  rising  city  on  the  outskirts  of  commercial 
progress — at  least,  his  landlady  was  instructed 
to  say  so  to  such  as  might  inquire  for  him,  and 
this  was  the  answer  Miss  Miller  received  when 
she  called  at  his  whilom  residence  a  few  days 
after  her  return  from  Hampton. 

I  did  go  as  far  as  Buffalo,  for  I  did  not  like 
the  fact,  that  thus  far  the  governess,  at  least, 
had  kept  track  of  me— knew  my  habits  and 
whereabouts,  and  might  be,  at  most  unexpected 
times,  a  spy  upon  my  movements.  I  resolved 
to  escape  her  farther  observation,  if  possible  ; 
should  I  wish  to  confer  with  her,  of  course  I 
could  do  so  at  any  time — for  the  present,  I  de- 
sired only  opportunities  to  prosecute  my  own 
plans. 

Thus,  when  I  reached  Buffalo,  I  turned  and 
came  back  to  Hampton,  taking  care,  as  usual,  to 
arrive  in  the  night.  I  now  took  up  what  I  may 
call  my  permanent  residence  at  Meredith  Place. 
The  deserted  and  gloomy  old  house  was  my 
abiding-place  ;  I  slept  there,  and  there  took  the 
most  of  my  meals — generally,  however,  stealing 
n  over  to  Gram' me  Hooker's,  in  the  twilight,  for 
if  the  warm  supper  which  she  always  prepared  for 
&  me,  and  carrying  back  provisions  for  the  next 
lay. 

That  my  life  was  one  of  real  hardship  may  be 
^xnnprehended.  •  Gram' me' s  cooking  was  not 
ai  ifter  the  style  of  Francatelli's,  and  the  only  fire 
,r(  [  allowed  myself,  was  a  little  charcoal  in  the 
rrate  of  my  chamber.    I  was  obliged  to  use  the 
sifitmost  caution,  and  to  maintain  that  1 '  eternal 
rigilance ' '  which  is  the  price  of  success.  Above 
0  dl  things  I  desired  to  prevent  rumors  of  any 
me  haunting  the  place ;  for  my  whole  hope 
jfljvas  that  I  might,  sometime,  surprise  the  guilty 
M  >arty  at  his  or  her  work.    To  one  young  and 
$  tctive  like  myself,  such  a  life  was  dreary  enough; 
^rat  I  never  once  thought  of  abandoning  it,  as 
ong  as  there  was  any  prospect  that  I  might 
rack  to  his  haunt,  and  catch  in  the  very  act, 
he  person  engaged  in  coining  my  uncle's  gold 
tomato  money.    I  had  the  library  as  a  resource, 
and  I  studied  the  old  poets  and  old  scholars 
^frith  an  interest  due  not  so  much  to  my  tastes 
t|  s  my  idleness ;  I  do  not  now  regret  that  en- 
orced  course  of  reading,  but  I  would  then  glad- 
tify  have  exchanged  it  for  the*pleasures  of  liberty 
nd  young  society. 

The  owner  of  the  place  came,  once  or  twice, 
hile  I  was  in  the  house,  to  give  it  a  cursory 
xamination,  but  he  saw  nothing  to  arouse  sus- 
icion,  and  probably  would  have  been  incred- 
lous,  had  he  been  informed  that  a  tenant  was 
ving,  rent-free,  in  the  old  mansion.  Once  I 
as  under  the  bed  in  my  chamber,  in  consider- 
able fear  of  a  little  terrier  who  was  snuffing 
Dout  the  room  ;  the  other  time,  I  was  driven 


to  the  darkest  recesses  of  the  cellar;  but  I  escaped 
detection,  and  was  thankful. 

I  was  very  careful  of  Gram' me  Hooker, 
during  the  January  thaw  and  February  cold. 
I  caused  her  to  clothe  herself  in  red  flannel  and 
to  wear  two  pairs  of  stockings  when  she  went 
out ;  for  I  did  not  forget  that  she  was  liable  to 
be  laid  up  with  rheumatism,  and  upon  her  de- 
pended not  only  my  daily  food,  but  all  infor- 
mation concerning  what  transpired  in  Hampton. 
I  say  Hampton,  but  I  mean  one  little  dwelling 
in  that  village,  around  which  all  my  interest 
centered. 

The  good  old  creature  knew  that  I  wanted  to 
hear  her  talk  of  nothing  but  Lillian,  and  she 
gratified  me  by  going  over,  in  minutest  detail,  all 
she  could  glean  of  what  was  said  and  done  and 
rumored.  If  to  gossip  was  any  pleasure  to  her, 
she  must  have  passed  a  cheerful  winter,  for  I 
did  not  stint  her  in  the  strength  of  her  tea  nor 
the  length  of  her  story-telling. 

The  burden  of  her  narrative  rang  with  two 
names — Lillian  and  Don  Miguel.  As  much  as 
she  loved  and  commiserated  me,  I  do  believe 
gram' me  secretly  favored  the  fine  Spanish  gen- 
tleman. Gay  manners,  handsome  features,  and 
plenty  of  money,  are  seductive  to  all, — my  only 
friend  was  not  proof  against  their  charm,  but 
forgot  what  I  suffered  in  listening,  while  she 
expatiated  on  his  numberless  perfections,  how 
popular  he  was  in  the  village,  how  all  the  girls 
were  crazy  about  him,  how  fond  he  was  of  Inez, 
and  how  generous  to  her, — and,  above  all,  how 
any  one  could  see  with  half  an  eye,  that  he  was 
perfectly  wrapped  up  in  Miss  Lillian. 

"But  does  she  return  his  love?  Do  you 
know  if  they  are  betrothed?  Do  you  know  if 
he  has  declared  himself?" — I  suppose  I  asked 
these  questions  a  hundred  times. 

Gram' me  was  not  quite  certain  ;  but  the  child 
was  looking  more  like  herself, — she  certainly 
seemed  happier, — and,  indeed,  it  would  be  a 
fine  thing  for  Miss  Lily.  Still,  she  hardly 
thought  any  engagement  had  taken  place,  for 
Miss  Lily  had  told  her,  more  than  once,  that  in 
June  Miss  Miller  was  coming  back,  and  they  were 
going  to  organize  a  Young  Ladies'  Seminary. 

"  Lillian  is  not  one  to  give  up  her  heart  at  a 
glance,"  I  said  to  myself;  "but  long  before 
June  she  will  change  lier  mind.  God  bless  my 
dearest,  my  darling,  in  lier  choice.  Even  I, 
who  love  her,  can  not  but  like  Don  Miguel, — 
and,  surely,  her  happiness  ought  to  be  more 
precious  to  me  than  my  own." 

I  have  not  said  much,  have  I,  in  this  record, 
of  my  own  personal  unhappiness  and  misfor- 
tunes. Loss  of  character,  home,  and  friends, 
did  not  fall  upon  me  without  wounding  me  al- 
most to  the  death  ;  but,  the  resolution  to  which 


03 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


I  so  steadily  held,  to  discover  the  really  guilty, 
was  so  powerful  as  to  eclipse  all  else  in  my 
mind.  And  in  this  I  was  not  moved  so  much 
by  the  desire  to  clear  myself,  as  the  hope  to  re- 
store her  inheritance  to  my  cousin,  or  at  least 
to  bring  punishment  on  those  who  had  deprived 
her  of  her  father. 

Now,  Don  Miguel  became  my  torture.  As  I 
say,  I  rejoiced  that  my  darling  was  thus  pro- 
vided for,  but  for  myself  I  did  not  rejoice.  I 
suffered  the  fiercest  pangs  of  jealousy.  Without 
disliking  him,  or  refusing  to  do  him  fullest 
justice, — on  the  contrary,  exaggerating  his  good 
qualities — I  dwelt  on  his  perfections  as  devotees 
kneel  on  peas.  0,  happy  Don  Miguel !  Every 
evening  he  could  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  my 
darling's  eyes, — while  I  was  banished  to  this 
lonesome  darkness.  Sometimes,  through  the 
intense  stillness  of  my  prison,  it  seemed  to  me 
I  could  hear  her  rippling  laughter,  or  her  voice 
blending  with  his  in  some  sweet  love-song.  I — 
I  could  not  even  look  upon  her  face !  Ready  as 
I  might  be  to  act  the  spy  upon  those  I  suspected, 
in  the  interest  of  truth  and  justice,  I  never  took 
the  liberty  of  stealing  to  her  windows  to  watch 
the  brightness  of  her  smile  which  shone  for 
him.  I  was  wild  just  to  look  upon  her  and 
near  her  speak — but  I  never  went  near  the  cot- 
tage where  she  lived. 

It  was  strange,  the  life  I  led  in  that  old  house, 
so  solitary,  yet  so  intense.  I  could  see  that  my 
image,  reflected  from  the  tall  mirrors  standing 
high  in  their  antiquated  frames,  grew  daily 
more  pale  and  shadowy — daily  more  like  the 
colors  in  the  brocade  curtains  and  Turkey  car- 
pets, which  were  slowly  fading  out.  How  much 
Hike  a  living  thing  a  mirror  is !  When  I  go 
iinto  a  deserted  mansion  they  face  me  like 
:  guards,  and  startle  me.  I  did  not  dare  to  cheer 
myself  with  a  fire  in  the  chimneys ;  I  did  not 
dare  to  soothe  myself  with  my  old  violin,  which 
.still  hung  in  my  chamber ;  but,  cold,  silent,  and 
melancholy,  flitted  about  the  darkened  rooms, 
Foeholding  myself  dimly  in  those  ghostly  mirrors, 
©r  with  locked  door  and  feet  to  the  little  char- 
coal brasier,  hung  languidly  over  my  books, 
waiting  for  night  to  come,  that  I  might  gossip 
with  gram' me  about  Lillian — waiting  for  night 
to  come  ,  that  I  might  resume  my  wearing  and 
ceaseless  vigil. 

Unhappy  love  and  gnawing  suspense  were 
telling  fearfully  upon  my  youth  and  health.  I 
was  becoming  nervous,  from  want  of  proper 
sleep,  and  from  the  habit  of  being  everlastingly 
on  tite  watch,  with  ear  intent  to  catch  every 
sound,  by  day  or  night.  My  eyes  acquired  a 
wild,  bright  look,  almost  like  that  of  insanity  ; 
my  complexion  was  bleached  like  that  of  a 
plant  growing  in  a  cellar ;  my  clothes  were 


shabby  and  hung  upon  my  shrinking  limbs ; 
my  hair  grew  in  thick  masses  of  curls  down  my 
neck.  I  suppose  if  I  had  confronted  all  Hamp- 
ton in  the  open  day,  scarcely  two  persons 
would  have  recognized  me,  and  if  any  had  sur- 
prised me  in  my  retreat  they  would  have  been 
more  alarmed  than  I. 

"  What  a  dangerous  rival  I  should  prove  to 
Don  Miguel  de  Almeda,  if  I  were  to  present 
myself,  now,  to  my  cousin  1"  I  would  say  to 
myself,  in  mockery. 

Sometimes  I  thought  that  my  endurance 
might  fail  me  utterly  before  the  hour  of  tri- 
umph came  ;  I  might  grow  too  ill  to  take  care 
of  myself,  when,  unless  I  could  be  sheltered  at 
gram' me' s,  I  should  be  detected,  and  all  re- 
sults of  my  long  labors  would  be  lost.  This 
fear  made  me  as  careful  of  myself  as  circum- 
stances would  permit. 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  March  that  an 
event  occurred  which  partially  rewarded  my  ten 
weeks  of  unceasing  watchfulness.  I  had  been 
driven  to  the  conclusion  that  the  robber  must 
have  disposed  of  the  whole  sixty  thousand  dol- 
lars worth  of  bullion  before  I  made  the  discov- 
ery of  the  crucible,  and  that  I  had  wasted  time 
in  this  idle  waiting  ;  and  had  resolved  to  leave 
the  spot  before  the  first  of  April  if  nothing  tran- 
spired. If  the  Chateaubriands  were  coming 
out  on  the  first  of  May,  I  foresaw  that  the 
month  of  April  would  be  given  over  to  repairs  and 
house-cleaning,  so  that  my  time  was  necessarily 
short.  I  had  resigned  expectation  of  any  re- 
sult of  my  vigils,  and  was  in  that  despondent 
mood  which  amounts  to  indifference,  when 
making  my  way  to  Gram'me  Hooker's,  through 
a  drizzling  rain,  one  Friday  evening,  she  told 
me  that  she  had  been  at  Lillian's  that  morning, 
who  had  spoken  to  her  of  receiving  a  lettei 
from  Miss  Miller,  announcing  that  she  would 
arrive  that  afternoon  to  spend  Sabbath  with 
her,  and  that  her  brother  Arthur  would  accom- 
pany her. 

"  She's  as  strange  a  creature  as  ever  I  saw, 
muttered  gram'me,  when  she  had  bolted  th< 
door,  and  pulled  down  the  green  paper  blind, 
preparatory  to  placing  my  supper  of  fried  port 
and  roasted  potatoes  on  the  table  before  me. 

"  Who  is  strange  ?   Miss  Miller  ?" 

"  No,  no,  t'other  one." 

"  I  don't  know  who  you  speak  of,  gram'me. 

She  placed  the  dishes  before  me,  and  poure< 
out  my  tea  ;  as  she  handed  me  the  cup,  sh 
said,  a  little  impatiently: 

"Why,  that  Spanish  woman,  of  course 
What  under  the  sun  an'  airth  Dr.  Meredit; 
ever  married  her  for,  beats  me.  He  might  knoi 
her  ways  wouldn't  be  like  ours.  But,  men  c 
his  age  allers  makes  fools  of  themselves  in  thei 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


67 


second  choice  ;  and  the  more  they  knows,  and 
the  more  book-l'arned  they  be,  the  greater 
simpletons !" 

"  What  set  you  to  thinking  of  that,  just 
now  ?" 

4 '  She  was  by  when  Miss  Lily  mentioned  that 
Mr.  Miller  was  comin'  along.  You  oughter 
have  seen  her  cheeks  redden  up  an'  her  eyes 
blaze  !  The  minute  before,  she  looked  as  sailer 
and  pale  as  a  bowl  of  cream,  and  all  of  a  sud- 
den she  colored  up  like  a  rose.  I  don't  deny 
she's  as  handsome  as  a  picter  when  she's 
pleased  or  flattered — an',  my,  how  she  does 
dress !  To  be  sure,  she  wears  black,  but  it's 
velvet  and  all  kind  of  rich  things,  an'  she  lays 
back  on  the  sofa  an'  flirts  her  fan  or  tinkles  her 
guitar,  while  poor  Miss  Lily  is  just  fagged  out 
with  teaching  and  keeping  house  and  all." 

"Do  you  think  it  is  injuring  Lillian, 
gram' me  ?" 

"  Wall,  I  jest  do,  to  say  truth.  If  she  had 
her  hull  strength  I  don't  know  as  'twould,  but 
she  was  too  young  to  be  very  strong,  you  see  ; 
she  hadn't  settled  arter  gettin'  her  growth." 

1 '  Oh,  gramme  !    But  then  Don  Miguel  will 
j  soon  put  an  end  to  that !    Yes,  he  will  take 
care  of  her !" 

"  I  think  he  will,"  was  the  dry  reply,  and  I 
swallowed  my  hot  potato  as  if  it  were  so  much 
ashes.  '  1  Yes,  I  never  did  see  a  young  man 
more  completely  bound  up  in  a  girl.  He's  like 
her  shadder.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  a  wed- 
din'  was  to  take  place  as  soon  as  the  season  of 
mournin'  had  ended.  Not  before — no  ;  Miss 
Lily  wouldn't  permit  that." 

I  pushed  away  my  plate  and  cup. 

"  Have  another  tater,  Dr.  Joe  ?  I  do  believe 
you' re  gettin'  tired  of ' em.  I  wish  I  had  suthin' 
better  to  offer  you.  You're  drefful  thin  and 
holler-eyed,  Doctor  Joe.  You'll"  kill  yourself, 
if  you  don't  quit  mopin'  round  that  old  place 
and  settin'  up  nights  so  much.  I  wish  you'd 
go  to  Wisconsin,  where  my  boy  is.  He  says 
he's  fatted  up  wonderful,  and  '11  send  fur  me  this 
summer.  Couldn' t  you  go  along  ?  Ain' t  much 
sickness  there ;  but  there  ain't  no  doctor 
either,  and  you'll  have  the  first  chance." 

"I  shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  if  I  went 
with  you,  gram' me." 

"  Dear  me  !  how  tickled  I  shall  be  !  You'll 
forget  your  troubles  there,  and  feel  like  an- 
other person.  I  make  no  doubt  you'll  grow 
rich  and  be  a  great  man." 

"  Thank  you,  gram'me,  for  the  prophecy." 

"  That  brings  me  back  to  that  Spanish  wo- 
man ag'in,  said  gram'me,  settling  her  elbows  on 
her  knee3,  her  chin  in  her  hands,  and  staring 
hard  into  the  fire. 

"What  does?" 


"  Speakin'  of  prophesying  and  sich  like 
witchcraft.  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  what  she  did 
to-day,  Doctor  Joe.  She  put  on  her  bonnet 
when  I  came  away,  and  said  she  was  going  to 
walk  with  me  as  far  as  the  woods,  to  see  if  she 
couldn't  find  some  wild  violets.  It  was  threat- 
enin'  to  rain,  then,  and  I  was  rather  surprised 
at  her  goin',  for  she  don't  trouble  to  be  very 
polite  to  an  old  body  like  me  ;  but  she  walked 
along  by  my  side,  very  friendly,  till  we  come  to 
the  woods,  and  then  she  pulled  a  few  violets, 
and  asked  me,  with  a  very  red  face,  if  I  was 
wise  about  plants  and  medicines  and  sich 
things.  I  told  her  I  knew  the  use  of  harbs 
pretty  well,  and  could  stew  up  a  mess  that  was 
good  for  liver  complaint ;  likewise,  I  could  cure 
a  sore  throat  and  the  bite  of  a  copperhead. 
Then  she  asked  me  if  I  ever  made  love-philters. 
'What,'  said  I,  'do  you  believe  in  that 
stuff?'  'Yes,'  said  she,  'all  the  young  girls 
where  I  come  from  use  love-philters.  Some- 
times they  pay  a  large  price  for  them.  Come, 
gram'me,'  she  said,  very  coaxing  and  soft,  'I 
believe  you  know  how  to  fix  'em.  I  want  one  of 
the  most  powerful  kind,  and  I  will  come  an'  git 
it  in  the  mornin',  and  she  took  a  gold  piece 
out  of  her  pocket  and  slipped  it  in  my  hand. 

"  '  Then  you  must  tell  me  what  you  want  it 
for,  and  who,  or  I  can't  make  the  charm  work,' 
I  said,  not  because  I  wanted  the  money,  Doctor 
Joe,  but  jest  to  see  what  was  in  that  girl's 
head.  'I  didn't  know  we  had  to  tell  who,' 
she  said,  kinder  sot  back.  'Oh,  no  matter, 
then,  but  I'll  guess.  It's  the  young  gentleman 
that's  comin'  here  to-morrow  with  his  sister, 
ain't  it?'  She  whispered  'yes,'  and  then  I 
asked  her  what  particular  charm  she  wanted 
the  philter  to  have,  and  she  said  she  wanted 
one  as  would  make  a  false  heart  true  ;  as  would 
win  a  lover  back,  whom  a  handsome  girl  had 
stolen  away  from  her. 

"Fool — little  idiot!"  I  muttered,  in  con- 
tempt ;  "can  she  really  be  so  silly,  gram'me  ?" 

"  She  was  in  dead  'arnest,  Doctor  Joe.  And 
now  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  little  powder, 
that'll  do  no  harm.  You  can  get  some  out  o' 
the  doctor's  office,  can't  you  ?  an'  I'll  go  over 
to  the  house  with  you,  when  you  go  back,  and 
bring  it,  so's  to  have  it  ready  in  the  mornin'." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
such  ridiculous  folly." 

"  Indeed,  it  ain't  the  money.  I  shan't  take 
much  from  her ;  but  I've  a  curiosity  to  see  how 
that  woman  will  carry  on." 

"There  may  be  something  in  that,"  I  an- 
swered, after  a  little  reflection.  ' '  A  girl  so  artful 
and  so  ignorant  might  become  dangerous — " 
here  I  paused,  for  I  was  choked  by  the  sudden 
leaping  of  my  heart  into  my  throat  at  a  thought 


08 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


— "  misbecome,"  perhaps  had  been  dangerous  ! 
Doubtless  this  Cuban  compound  of  jealousy, 
passion,  art,  and  ignorance,  had  played  similar 
tricks  before. 

It  might  be — but  no  ;  the  idea  was  not  credible. 

"Here's  a  scrap  of  paper  she  took  out  of  her 
purse  with  the  money,— it  fell  on  the  ground, 
but  she  didn't  see  it,  an'  I  picked  it  up.  As 
near  as  I  can  make  out,  it  shows  she's  on  the 
look-out  for  magicians  and  sorcerers." 

The  old  woman  laughed  heartily  as  she  hand- 
ed me  the  paper — a  few  lines  cut  from  a  New 
York  daily ,  reading  something  after  this  fashion : 

"  Astonishing  !  The  Turkish  Charm  of  Eden,  war- 
ranted to  fascinate,  and  never  fail.  Also,  Love  Secrets, 
Beautiful  Arts,  etc.  Try  it.  Send  25  cents,  and  re- 
ceive by  return  mail,  etc." 

"  I  knew  she  was  superstitious  and  narrow- 
minded,  but  I  did  not  suppose  her  given  over 
to  anything  so  absurd.  Well,  gram'me,  we 
will  exercise  all  the  might  of  our  intellect  and 
power  of  our  education  in  ooncocting  a  philter 
which  shall  win  the  false  knight  from  the  little 
feet  of  Miss  Chateaubriand  back  to  the  soft 
chain  of  the  lady's  guitar-ribbon,  which  he 
shall  wear,  henceforth,  about  his  neck  forever- 
more.  I  must  go  back  now.  I  feel  as  if  some- 
thing were  going  to  happen.  I  shall  begin, 
presently,  to  believe  in  fore-warnings  as  well  as 
love-philters. 

« Fetch  me  that  flower — the  herb  I  showed  thee 
once; 

The  juice  of  it  on  sleeping  eyelids  laid, 
Will  make  a  man  or  woman  madly  dote 
Upon  the  next  live  creature  that  it  sees. 
Fetch  me  this  herb :  and  be  thou  here  again 
Ere  the  leviathan  can  swim  a  league.' 

We  must  find  this  '  little  western  flower '  for 
our  fair  Inez. ' ' 

"  What's  that  I'm  to  fetch,  Doctor  Joe?" 

"Nothing,  gram'me.  I  was  only  quoting 
from  a  play  I  was  reading  to-day, ' '  and  I  drew 
on  my  overcoat.  "There  is  a  certain  little 
flower, — blue,  not  purple — I  would  like  to 
squeeze  the  juice  from,  for  this  dainty  lover. 
They  don't  call  it  'love-in-idleness,'  but  lo- 
belia, gram'me.  What  do  you  say  to  a  dose  of 
that?" 

She  laughed  till  her  sides  shook. 

"I'll  warrant  it  would  do  him  lots  of  good, — 
'specially  if  he's  threatened  with  fever, — love 
fever  or  bilious,  it  don't  matter  which.  ' 

Bather  coarse  jesting  ;  but  the  best  to  be  had 
under  the  circumstances,  and  a  good  laugh 
might  be  the  salvation  of  me,  my  nerves  had 
been  so  long  strung  to  the  highest.  I  did  laugh 
at  the  idea  of  lobelia  for  a  false  lover ;  but  I 
was  half  in  earnest,  too,  my  dislike  of  Arthur 
Miller  increasing  the  temptation. 

"  However,  gram'me,  I  shall  be  prudent,  and 
put  up  nothing  which  will  betray  the  foolish 


girl's  more  foolish  arts.    It  is  too  wet  for  you 
to  go  out  to-night.    Stay  you  at  home,  and  I  1 
will  place  the  powders  between  the  shutters  of 
the  kitchen  window ;  you  can  get  them,  as  you 
go  by,  in  the  morning.    Good  night. ' ' 

I  stepped  out  into  the  darkness  from  the 
cheerful  little  room  ;  the  rain  pattered  on  the 
dead  leaves  over  which  I  walked  ;  the  air  was 
close,  but  balmy  with  the  damp  breath  of  the 
woods  ;  not  a  star  shone,  but  I  was  too  familiar 
with  the  oft-trodden  path  to  be  at  a  loss  ;  I 
knew  when  I  came  to  the  brook  and  when  to 
the  broken  fence.  An  overpowering  melan- 
choly took  possession  of  me,  as  I  slowly  glided 
forward  in  the  musical  darkness,  so  intense  that 
it  wrapped  me  about  like  a  garment.  No  long- 
er upheld  by  the  hope  which  had  so  long  sup- 
ported me,  life  was  objectless.  Why  not  lie 
down  on  the  dead  leaves  and  perish  like  them, 
since  I  had  dropped  from  home  and  love  like 
the  leaf  from  its  branch  ?  It  appeared  to  my 
sense,  that,  if  I  would  lie  down  and  let  the 
warm  rain  fall  on  me  all  night,  in  the  morning 
I  should  be  oblivious  to  all  which  now  troubled 
me — dead — and  at  rest. 

I  resisted  the  temptation,  pushed  on  wearily, 
found  the  gate,  the  garden,  the  unfastened 
door,  which  I  opened  and  closed  with  the  noise- 
less movement  that  had  become  habitual  with 
me,  and  glided  up  to  my  room.    I  had  decided 
not  to  look  for  the  material  for  those  silly 
' '  powders  ' '  in  the  evening,  as  I  should  have  ,  j 
to  strike  a  light,  which  I  did  not  care  to  do.  j  - 
The  fact  that  Miss  Miller  had  probably  arrived  ; 
in  Hampton  was  enough  to  renew  all  my  old  J  ^ 
caution.    Taking  off  my  damp  clothing,  I  bolt-  !  i 
ed  my  door,  crept  into  bed,  and  sank  into  deep  * 
slumber.    It  was  not  usual  for  me  to  sleep  be-  j  $ 
fore  midnight,  but  this  evening  the  droning  of  £ 
the  rain  acted  on  my  restlessness  like  an  opiate. 

I  must  have  slept  several,  hours,  when  I 
suddenly  awoke,  with  every  faculty  on  the 
alert.  I  do  not  know  what  aroused  me  so  com- 
pletely ;  I  raised  myself  silently  in  the  bed,  and 
listened.  I  was  certain  I  heard  retreating  foot-1 
steps,  very  light,  as  if  the  person  was  walking 
in  stockings.  It  might  have  been  only  the  pat- 
ter of  a  mouse — I  was  not  positive ;  many  a 
time  I  had  been  falsely  alarmed  ;  I  did  as  I  had 
previously  done  an  hundred  times,  slipped  out 
upon  the  floor  and  dressed  myself.  I  waited 
fifteen  or  twenty  minutes.  I  might  have  re- 
turned to  my  slumbers  thinking  I  had  deceivec1 
myself,  but  a  door  slammed,  as  if  a  current  01 
outside  air  had  driven  it  shut.  It  sounded  like 
thunder  in  the  empty,  silent  house,  echoing 
through  every  hall  and  corridor.  I  can  not  de- 
scribe how  it  affected  me — who  had  waited  s< 
long.    For  a  few  moments  I  trembled  ;  thei 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


71 


grew  calm  and  perfectly  self-controlled.  Proba- 
bly the  intruder  was  alarmed  at  the  noise  himself 
had  made.  I  would  wait  a  little  until  his  as- 
surance was  restored ;  yet  not  long,  for  I  was 
afraid  he  might  be  going  away. 

I  slipped  the  bolt  of  my  door  without  making 
the  least  noise,  opened  it  a  little— all  dark,  all 
still.  I  passed  on  to  the  stairway,  down  it; 
still,  all  was  rayless  darkness.  I  glided  through 
the  parlors,  listened  at  the  library  door — not  a 
sound !  On  to  the  laboratory.  The  door  had 
stood  open  when  I  left  to  go  to  my  tea  ;  now  it 
was  closed!  I  stooped  to  look  through  the 
key-hole,  but  it  must  have  been  stuffed,  for  not 
a  beam  of  light  was  visible.  I  longed  to  try  the 
knob,  to  find  if  the  door  was  fastened  on  the 
inside,  but  hardly  thought  it  prudent  until  I 
had  further  investigated.  I  heard  movements 
within — the  clinking  sound  of  metal— and  the 
soft  roar  of  the  current  of  air  which  was  being 
forced  into  the  furnace  to  bring  the  fire  to  an 
intense  heat. 

I  suppose  I  was  terribly  excited,  but  I  did  not 
realize  it  so  much  until  the  reaction  same. 
Making  my  way  to  the  baek  hall-door,  which  I 
found  unfastened,  I  went  out  to  the  window 
which  belonged  to  the  laborateiry,  and  eau- 
tiously  unclosed  the  slats  a  little  way.  I  found 
I  need  not  be  so  careful,  for  a  newspaper  had 
been  pinned  up  inside,  which  effectually  pre- 
vented my  looking  into  the  room  ;  but  the 
dull  red  glow  of  the  furnace  shone  inside,  and 
I  could  faintly  discern  a  shadow  on  the  opposite 
wall,  stooping  and  rising,  as  the  person  at  the 
furnace  stooped  and  rose. 

What  should  I  do?  All  winter  long  I  had 
waited  for  the  hour,  and  now  that  it  was  upon 
me  I  could  not  decide  what  step  to  take !  If  I 
should  go  to  the  village  and  arouse  the  sheriff, 
and  bring  him  here,  all  might  be  over  before 
our  return,  when  I  should  have  exposed  myself 
to  arrest,  given  warning  to  the  thief,  and  ac- 
complished nothing!  He  might  have  been  at 
work  hours  before  I  knew  it,  and  be  nearly 
|  through  with  his  night's  labor.  If  there  was  one 
person  only,  better  for  me  to  wait  until  he  at- 
!  tempted  his  exit,  and  then  throttle  him  ;  or 
jdog  his  steps,  and  ascertain  from  whence  he 
jprocured  the  secreted  gold.  If  I  once  ascer- 
jtained  who  the  person  was,  I  could  more  easily 
arrange  matters  for  his  detection  and  arrest. 

As  there  was  no  conversation.  I  made  sure 
that  only  one  was  engaged  in  the  work.  I  felt 
a  senseless  anger  at  the  paper,  which  alone  in- 
terposed between  me  and  a  sight  of  the  operator 
jat  his  toils.  If  that  were  away,  I  might  watch 
ihim  at  my  leisure  1 

I  0  !  now  if  I  had  Lillian  with  me,  how  pure 
|as  the  daylight  could  I  be  made  in  her  eyes  ! 


1 1  even  wished  that  I  had  brought  Gram' me 
Hooker  with  me  to  act  as  witness.  I  need  not 
say  that  in  my  mind  a  connection  arose  between 
the  visit  of  the  Millers  to  Hampton  and  this  mid- 
night adventure  at  Meredith  Place. 

It  was  still  raining  lightly  and  softly,  and  I 
was  glad  of  it,  as  the  murmur  served  to  hide 
any  faint  noise  of  footsteps  or  breathing  which 
I  might  make.  After  Some  hesitation,  I  went 
back,  armed  with  a  heavy  cudgel  with  which  I 
had  previously  provided  myself,  and  took  up 
my  station  by  the  laboratory  door. 

The  darkness  was  absolute  ;  all  my  senses 
were  concentrated  in  the  one  of  hearing  ;  I 
could  make  out  the  whole  process  of  the  work 
inside.  More  than  an  hour  passed.  Did  you 
ever  feel  the  approach  of  an  object  in  the  dark? 
Standing  here,  I  fancied  some  one  crept  down 
the  hall,  though  I  heard  nothing  ;  paused,  as  I 
had  paused ;  was  listening,  as  I  was  listening — 
stood  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  doorway.  I  was 
tempted  to  stretch  out  my  hand  and  grasp,  to 
see  if  some  one  were  really  there;  but  even  the 
singular  fact  of  another  person  being  on  the 
watch,  if  fact  it  were,  was  second  to  the  neces- 
sity of  discovering  the  robber  within — to  whom 
any  noise  might  give  the  alarm. 

Yes,  I  heard  breathing,  repressed,  and  conse- 
quently, hurried.  I  softly  reached  forward  my 
hand,  but  it  touched  nothing  ;  and  again  I  felt, 
as  I  had  once  before,  as  if  some  soul  were  here 
without  its  body.  There  was  something  awful 
about  the  silence  and  the  waiting. 

All  things  must  have  an  end, — my  vigil  had. 
I  noted  the  clearing  up  and  the  putting  in  order 
which  was  going  on  in  the  laboratory ;  then 
some  one  came  to  the  door,  cautiously  turned 
the  key,  opened  the  door.  There  was  no  light, 
for  lamp  and  furnace-fire  had  been  extinguish- 
ed. I  raised  my  weapon,  and  brought  it  down 
heavily  ;  there  was  a  cry — a  fall — some  one 
uttered  a  shriek  and  stumbled  !  Was  there 
more  than  one  ?  I  thought  not,  and  resolved 
that  this  one  should  not  escape  me.  I  stooped 
to  the  fallen  figure,  and  closed  my  vise-like 
arms  about  it.  Good  God  !  it  was  a  woman' sJJ 
I  dragged  her  into  the  laboratory,  shut  ana 
locked  the  door,  and  relighted  the  lamp  which 
I  knew  stood  on  the  table. 

I  hesitated  before  turning  the  light  of  the 
lamp  on  the  woman,  for  two  reasons  :  I  was 
afraid  I  had  killed  her,  and  I  dreaded,  after  all, 
to  convince  myself  of  who  it  was. 
It  was  Miss  Miller  ! 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

BROKEN     AND  MENDED. 

I  saw  that  she  was  dead  or  unconscious,  and 
catching  the  lamp,  I  ran  out  to  find  if  she  had 


73 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


any  confederates  lurking  about.  The  more  I 
thought  of  it,  the  more  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
two  persons  had  cried  out  at  the  moment  I 
struck  ;  but  I  found  no  one  in  the  house,  or 
about  the  porches.  I  immediately  fastened  the 
back  hall  door,  which,  as  I  said,  had  been  un- 
locked when  I  first  came  down,  and  then 
searched  every  room,  even  to  the  cellar.  No 
one  was  in  the  house  save  us  two,  and  I  made 
sure  that  no  one  could  get  in.  As  I  came  back 
to  the  laboratory,  close  by  the  door  lay  a  small 
bag,  which  I  must  have  passed  over  without 
notice  as  I  went  out.  I  knew  what  was  in  it 
before  I  examined  it, — it  was  heavy  with  the 
newly-coined  gold.  Taking  it  with  me  into  the 
room,  I  now  gave  my  attention  to  the  woman, 
who  lay  on  the  floor,  prostrated  by  my  own 
hand.  She  had  on  a  hood  and  a  waterproof 
cloak,  both  drenched  with  rain.  As  I  took  off 
the  hood,  the  heavy  waves  of  her  jet-black  hair 
rolled  down  either  side  of  the  marble  face — a 
face  so  pale  that  I  felt,  hurriedly,  for  the  faint 
pulse  at  her  wrist,  which  assured  me  that 
she  was  alive.  I  shrank  as  I  touched  her 
wrist.  Helpless  and  wounded  as  she  lay  before 
me,  all  my  old  dislike  sprang  up  anew  at  thought 
of  the  consummate  acting  of  which  she  had  been 
guilty — of  the  heartless,  bold,  and  wicked  char- 
acter which  could  execute  the  scheme  of  wrong 
and  robbery,  while  pretending  to  be  Lillian's 
best  friend. 

However,  the  first  impulse  of  a  physician  is 
to  save  life.  I  could  not  let  her  die  before  me  ; 
no,  rather  bring  her  back  to  the  punishment 
which  must  await  her.  I  had  been  her  assail- 
ant, now  I  must  be  her  surgeon.  I  was  glad  to 
find  that  the  tremendous  blow  which  I  had 
dealt  had  not  fallen  on  her  head  ;  there  was  a 
blood  stain  on  her  cheek  where  she  had  cut  it 
in  falling ;  but  my  weapon  had  struck  her 
shoulder  and  arm,  and  the  latter  was  broken 
midway  between  the  shoulder  and  elbow.  She 
moaned  as  I  handled  the  injured  limb. 

Going  to  the  laundry,  I  procured  cold  water  ; 
then  I  fastened  myself  and  my  patient  in  the 

boratory,  which, — having  always  served  Dr. 

eredith  as  a  sort  of  office  and  drug-shop  com- 
bined, for  the  benefit  of  poor  country  people — 
was  still  supplied  with  everything  needful. 
Cold  water  on  her  forehead,  and  a  spoon-full  of 
brandy  between  her  lips,  soon  caused  Miss  Mil- 
ler to  open  her  eyes  and  stare  at  me  silently. 

"  I  have  broken  your  arm,  and  I'm  going  to 
set  it,"  I  said,  as  I  cut  the  sleeve  from  it  with 
my  knife. 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  in  a  voice  as 
cold  and  firm  as  my  own,  though  not,  perhaps, 
as  strong. 

It  was  a  beautiful  arm,  perfect  in  its  propor- 


tions, with  flesh  firm  and  smooth  as  flesh  coulc 
be,  except  where  the  ugly  bruise  was  alreadj 
beginning  to  swell  and  discolor.  I  could  no) 
handle  it  as  I  would  have  handled  a  man's  arm, 
greatly  as  I  disliked  its  owner  ;  I  thought  onot 
or  twice  my  nerves  would  fail  me  ;  but  hei 
own  firmness  aided  me  to  bring  my  task  to  i 
successful  end.  She  never  groaned  while  I  forcec 
the  bones  into  place  and  applied  the  splints;  bu1 
when  I  turned  to  give  her  some  water,  at  the 
close,  she  had  slipped  off  again  into  insensibili- 
ty. More  brandy ;— then  I  went  for  pillowt 
and  a  mattress,  which  I  spread  on  the  floor, 
adjusting  her  as  comfortably  as  possible,  with 
plenty  of  cold  water  bandages  on  her  shouklei 
and  arm;  but  no  sooner  had  she  entirely  recov- 
ered consciousness  than  she  sat  up,  saying — 

"I  must  go  back  now,  before  it  grows  light." 

"  No,  Miss  Miller,  you  are  my  prisoner." 

' 4  Let  me  go  back  to  Lillian  before  the  daj 
breaks.  You  can  not  wish  to  get  up  such  a  scent 
at  Meredith  Place  as  will  follow  our  being  found 
here." 

' 4  Do  you  think  yourself  in  condition  to  wait 
a  mile  ?.' ' 

"  Yes,  yes  !  you  need  not  doubt  that.  Mj 
arm  pains  me  a  little,  but  lam  strong  as  ever." 

Her  face  was  like  the  linen  it  rested  on,  and 
her  pulse  already  rising.  I  regarded  her  witt 
something  like  compassion. 

"  You  could  not  do  it,  Miss  Miller." 

"I  must.  There  is  so  much  at  stake."  Rising 
to  her  feet,  she  staggered  to  the  door,  but  found 
it  locked,  and  the  key  in  my  possession ;  she 
sank  into  a  chair  beside  it,  looking  so  strange 
in  her  disheveled  dress,  with  her  bandaged  arm 
and  white  face — 

' '  You  were  always  my  enemy,  Joseph.  Oh,J 
do  be  merciful  now,  and  let  me  go  away  from 
this  before  the  day  breaks." 

For  answer,  I  turned  out  on  the  table  the 
hundred  gold  eagles,  scarcely  hardened  from 
the  mould — glittering  witnesses,  telling  of  guilt 
and  shame. 

' '  Dr.  Meredith' s  gold — Lillian' s  inheritance. ' ' 

I  thought  to  speak  sternly,  but  my  voice  wag 
hollow  and  trembling  with  emotion, — two 
burning  tears  ran  down  my  thin  cheeks  at  sight 
of  this  reminder  of  all  that  had  occurred. 

44  Poor  boy,"  she  murmured  pitiifully;  44  pool 
Lillian  !  I  am  so  sorry  for  all — and  for  myself. 
If  I  knew  what  was  right  for  me  to  do,  I  would 
do  it."  *> 

44  You  can  not  restore  the  dead  to  life  ;  you 
can  not — " 

"Ah!  don't!  dont!" 

"You  can  not  restore  the  money  already 
squandered,  perhaps ;  but  you  can  give  ovei 
what  remains,  to  the  rightful  owners.   You  can 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


7a 


to  furnish  your  brother  with  means  to 
keep  up  appearances  which  his  own  fortune 
does  not  warrant,  while  she  whom  you  pre- 
tend to  love  and  befriend  suffers  all  the  hard- 
ships of  poverty.  Because  you  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  obtaining  the  lead  in  Dr.  Meredith's 
family,  you  have  turned  your  ambition,  I  sup- 
pose, in  the  direction  of  the  Chateaubriands. 
Your  brother's  alliance  with  that  family  will 
be  a  great  honor,  will  it  not?  It  does  seem 
cruel  to  nip  this  fair  prospect  in  the  bud !" 

"You  have  not  the  power  to  blast  us,"  she 
defiantly  returned.  "Am  I  in  your  power? 
No  ! — we  two  are  here,  each  to  witness  against 
the  other.  Whose  word  will  be  most  readily 
received?  Have  you  thought  of  that?  You 
Bwear  you  found  me  here  engaged  in  coining 
money.  I  swear  that  I  came  here  because  I 
had  reason  to  know  that  you  were  haunting  this 
house,  and  had  been  all  winter  secreted  here. 
[  came  and  found  you  at  your  task  of  melting 
your  uncle's  gold  into  coin,  and  when  you  dis- 
covered that  I  was  on  your  track  you  struck  me 
iown,  probably  with  intent  to  kill  me,  and  put 
the  inconvenient  witness  out  of  th«  way.  Whose 
story  will  be  most  easily  believed  ?  My  path 
aas  been  straightforward  since?  the  day  of  the 
doctor's  death,  in  the  broad  daylight,  so  that 
ill  might  see  it  ;  yours  has  been  covered  by  all 
nanner  of  deceits  and  secrecies.  Your  course. 
Tom  first  to  last,  is  enough  to  condemn  and 
»nvict  you,  a  dozen  times  over.  Don  Miguel 
will  swear  that  you  had  the  key  to  your  uncle's 
;reasure-box,  while  practicing  your  profession 
mder  an  assumed  name.  Come  !  let  us  com- 
promise." 

j  "Never!  I  can  die  in  a  good  cause.  But  I 
jvill  not  permit  you  longer  to  impose  on  my 
»usin  Lillian  your  false  friendship,  as  far  as 
isrords  of  mine  have  power  to  warn  her." 

"  Your  words  will  have  no  power  against  me. 
ifou  forget  the  light  in  which  she  views  you. 
j>he  would  sooner  listen  to  the  hissing  of  a  viper 
han  to  your  voice,  whom  she  regards  as  her 
•ather's  murderer !  " 

"You  told  me  that  she  never  believed  me 
guilty !  "  I  cried,  stung  by  her  cruel  words  the 
more  deeply  that  I  felt  them  true, 
j  She  laughed, — you  know  how  maddening  a 
laugh  can  be,  how  much  harder  to  bear  than 
Jtny  sarcasm  or  angry  epithet !  I  felt  the  im- 
pulse to  punish  her  in  some  frightful  way,  but 
|;he  had  overtasked  her  strength,  and  again 
jrrew  faint. 

I  could  not  strike  a  helpless  woman — so  I 
brought  the  camphor  instead  of  the  cudgel ; 
nut  she  was  obliged  to  lie  down,  and  give  up, 
jbr  the  present,  the  hope  of  going  home. 


"Is  it  growing  light?"  she  asked,  after  a 
short  time. 

I  took  down  the  newspaper  and  looked  through 
the  slats  of  the  shutters  ;  the  rain  had  ceased,  a 
rosy  streak  lay  along  the  horizon,  the  black 
mist  in  the  garden  began  to  lighten  into  gray. 
By  some  chance,  I  bethought  me  to  look  at  the 
date  of  the  paper — it  was  an  evening  New  York 
daily  of  the  previous  day  ! 

I  seated  myself  at  the  table  with  pen,  ink,  and 
paper.  Miss  Miller  lay  quite  still,  watching  me. 
Suddenly  she  asked  : 

"May  I  look  at  that  bag? " 

She  referred  to  the  one  which  had  held  the 
money.  Her  question  caused  me  to  take  it  up 
and  examine  it.  It  was  of  brown  linen,  more 
like  a  lady's  reticule  than  the  canvas-bags 
which  are  made  for  coin  ;  and  in  the  top,  just 
under  the  hem,  was  worked  in  red  letters,  A.  M. 
It  was  soiled,  and  wore  the  print  of  money, 
plainly  showing  that  this  was  not  the  first  time 
it  had  served  the  purpose. 

4 1  You  can  not  look  at  the  bag.  I  have  taken 
possession  of  it." 

"Who  are  you  writing  to — the  sheriff?" 

I  made  no  answer,  but  went  on  with  my  writ- 
ing by  the  dimly  burning  lamp,  feeling  those 
black  eyes  fixed  on  me  with  no  loving  glance. 
Presently  I  was  interrupted  with — 

"  I  meant  to  tell  you,  since  you  really  feel  so 
badly  about  your  cousin's  loss  of  fortune,  that 
you  hardly  need  bear  such  an  onerous  burden  of 
care  any  longer.  She  will  soon  marry  Don 
Miguel,  who  is  able  to  replace  what  she  lost, 
five  times  over. ' ' 

Perhaps  she  saw  the  blot  made  on  my  letter  ; 
if  so,  doubtless  it  gave  her  a  malicious  pleasure 
in  the  midst  of  her  pain. 

The  dawn  was  beginning  to  overpower  the 
waning  lamp-light  as  I  finished  and  folded  the 
sheet  on  which  I  had  written.    It  read  : 


I  told  you,  ■when  I  deserted  name  and  fame,  that  it 
was  in  order  to  keep  free  to  -work  for  you.  Probably 
you  did  not  believe  me  ; — I  scarcely  hoped  you  would. 
Since  then  I  bare  never  ceased  to  wait  and  watch.  To- 
night my  investigations  have  culminated  in  the  ar- 
rest of  the  person  who  has  made  use  of  her  knowledge 
of  these  premises,  as  well  as  her  chemical  knowledge, 
and  familiarity  with  the  laboratory,  to  coin  the  bullion 
which  was  in  the  missing  box,  into  money. 

Whether  the  same  person  prepared  the  fatal  draught 
whish  deprived  you  of  your  father,  I  have  not  positive- 
ly discovered.  You  must  draw  your  own  inferences. 
j  She  is  familiar,  as  you  know,  with  the  nature  and  uses 
of  poisons.  I  came  here  at  Christmas  and  found  gold 
in  a  crucible.  Since  then  I  have  kept  watch  for  the 
coiner.  To-night  I  heard  her  at  the  work,  surprised 
her  as  she  came  from  the  laboratory,  and  struck  her 
down,  in  the  darkness,  unknowing  who  it  was.  Had  I 
guessed  that  the  offender  was  a  woman,  I  should  have 
been  less  savage  in  my  assault. 

She  laughs  now,  and  declares  that  the  cards  are 
still  in  her  own  hands.  She  will  assert  that  I  am  the 
guilty  one,  and  that  the  discovered  me.    I  quite  expect 


76 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


that  you  will  give  her  statement  the  preference.  All 
the  proof  I  can  offer  in  my  own  favor,  is  this  paper, 
and  this  bag,  which  held  the  money.  Perhaps  you  will 
recognize  the  bag  as  hers  ; — the  paper  was  pinned  up 
at  the  window.  You  can  see  that  it  came  from  the  city 
yesterday  afternoon,  and  Gram'me  Hooker  will  tell  you 
that  I  have  not  left  this  vicinity  for  over  ten  weeks. 

I  believe,  too,  that  I  will  send  this  handkerchief.  I 
picked  it  up  in  this  room,  on  the  afternoon  of  my  uncle's 
death.  It  lay  upon  the  floor,  under  the  shelf  contain- 
ing poisons.  You  will  observe  that  it  has  two  holes 
eaten  in  it  by  a  drop  of  acid; 

I  did  not  show  it  to  you,  while  I  remained  in  the 
family,  for  I  did  not  like  to  shock  you,  and  I  had  then 
no  other  proof.  Now,  I  know  it  to  be  my  solemn  duty 
to  warn  you  against  one  in  whom  you  repose  every 
confidence.  I  leave  the  whole  matter  in  your  hands. 
You  can  keep  it  secret,  or  expose  it  to  those  who  will 
assist  you  in  compelling  her  to  divulge  where  the  re- 
mainder of  your  father's  fortune  is.  You  can  believe 
me,  or  weakly  submit  to  be  farther  deceived  by  one 
who  has  preyed  upon  you  without  mercy.  I  hope  that 
the  larger  part  of  your  inheritance  will  be  restored  to 
you  ; — also,  that  you  will  be  happy,  and  prosperous,  as 
I  hear  there  is  every  prospect  of  your  being.  Having 
done  all  that  I  could  for  the  restoration  of  the  £old,  I 
leave  it  to  you  to  command  it.  There  is  nothing  more 
for  me  to  do,  in  your  service,  and  so,  farewell. 

J.  M. 

A  formal  epistle,  meet  for  the  eye  of  Don 
Miguel's  betrothed.  I  had  scarcely  any  hope 
that  Miss  Miller  would  fail  to  smooth  the  whole 
affair  over  to  Lillian.  I  regretted,  angrily, 
that  I  had  failed  to  secure  a  witness,  which  had 
left  me,  still,  so  much  at  her  mercy.  I  would 
have  given  much  if  Gram'me  Hooker  had  been 
there,  through  the  curious  proceedings  of  that 
night,  to  bear  her  testimony. 

To  remain  longer  in  Meredith  Place  would  be 
unnecessary,  for,  of  course,  the  coining  would 
never  be  repeated;  and  I  suspected  that  the 
box  of  gold  would  be  delivered  to  my  cousin, 
either  openly  or  surreptitiously.  However,  I 
determined  to  make  one  more  effort  to  render 
the  matter  certain.  I  turned  down  the  lamp, 
flung  open  the  shutter,  and,  as  the  gray  morn- 
ing light  fell  on  the  pallid  face,  I  said,  ab- 
ruptly— 

"You  knew,  then,  from  the  beginning,  the 
mystery  of  the  figure  eight  ? ' ' 

"  Before  God,  I  do  not,  Joseph  Meredith !  " 

"Tell  me  where  the  box  is." 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  gold?  " 

"Why  should  I  tell  you?  You  have  no 
right  to  it." 

"If  I  promise  to  keep  the  matter  perfectly 
quiet,  to  conceal  it,  even  from  Lillian,  allowing 
you  to  make  such  excuse  as  you  choose  for  your 
broken  arm,  will  you  tell  me  where  the  box  is  ?' ' 

"I  told  yOu  that  I  do  no*  know.  I  have 
looked  for  it,  as  earnestly  as  you,  and  have 
never  found  it." 

I  turned  away  in  disgust ;  why  could  she  not 
content  herself  with  simply  denying  my  request, 
without  adding  this  falsehood  to  it  ? 


"Good  bye  forever,"  I  said,  turning  a  last 
contemptuous  look  on  the  governess,  as  she 
lay  there,  helpless.  I  could  not  but  admire, 
even  then,  the  haughtiness,  the  dignity,  which 
never  deserted  her. 

"  She  would  die  on  the  scaffold,  like  a  queen 
going  to  be  crowned,"  I  muttered,  as  I  turned 
the  key,  and  locked  her  in. 

I  had  previously  folded  a  few  squares  of 
white  paper  containing  some  harmless  powders 
of  bi-carbonate  of  soda  and  powdered  sugar, — 
with  these,  the  newspaper,  letter,  handkerchief, 
and  linen  bag,  I  departed  from  Meredith  Place  ; 
the  gold  I  left  lying  on  the  table,  as  I  had 
turned  it  out. 

Walking  rapidly  to  Mrs.  Hooker's,  I  found 
her  preparing  breakfast. 

"Give  me  a  good,  strong  cup  of  coffee, 
gram'me.  I  am  about  to  set  forth  on  the 
journey  of  life  to-day,  and  I  shall  need  that  to 
sustain  me. ' ' 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Doctor  Joe  ?  Be  you 
ral'y  goin'  ?." 

"  Yes,  quickly,  and,  I  think,  forever.  Per- 
haps I  shall  turn  up  in  Minnesota  before  long, 
and  then  you  will  hear  from  me  through  your 
son,"  I  added,  as  she  began  to  cry. 

"If  you  must  go,  do  go  there,"  she  urged, 
and  I  thought  favorably  of  it  myself ;  though 
my  first  anxiety  was  to  get  out  of  Hampton  as 
speedily  as  possible. 

"And  now,  dear,  good,  kind  gram'me, 
good-bye,"  I  said,  as,  having  drank  my  coffee, 
put  a  crust  of  bread  in  my  pocket,  and  made  up 
my  small  bundle  of  linen  and  placed  it  in  my 
traveling-bag,  I  started  on  this  new  journey. 

"If  the  world  was  a  desert  island,  and  I  a 
Kobinson  Crusoe,  just  wrecked,  I  should  not 
feel  half  so  desolate.  Eemember,  take  this 
package  immediately,  and  deliver  it  into  my 
cousin's  own  hands.  Be  certain  that  she  has  it 
within  an  hour.  Give  it  to  her  yourself.  Do 
not  allow  any  one  else  to  act  as  messenger. 
Here  are  the  love-philters,  too,  for  Inez.  Don't 
disappoint  her  !  If  Arthur  Miller  only  remains 
over  Sunday,  they  will  have  to  do  their  work  of 
fascination  speedily !  Again,  farewell,  and  God 
bless  you !" 

CHAPTER  XTO. 

THE    TOWER  CHAMBER. 

The  retired  village  of  Hampton  was  changed, 
in  a  season,  into  a  fashionable  resort.  The 
Chateaubriands  had  so  faithfully  praised  it  to 
their  friends  during  the  winter,  saying  always 
to  those  who  wondersd  1 '  where  they  should  go 
next  summer,"  to  "ao  as  they  expected  to  do, 
go  to  Hampton,"  tljat  when  May  came,  all  the 
quiet  old  farmers  were  beseiged  with  applica- 
tions for  board,  and  what  few  houses  were  to  ha 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


T7 


had,  were  rented  to  such  "high-flyers"  as  had 
never  before  graced  these  modest  dwellings. 

The  one  hotel-keeper,  seeing  that  this  was 
"the  tide,  which,  taken  at  its  flood,  leads  on 
to  fortune,"  repaired  the  large,  rambling  shell 
which  went  by  the  name  of  Hampton  House, 
re-papered,  re-whitewashed,  re-furnished,  sent 
to  the  city  for  a  cook  who  could  fry  potatoes  a 
la  Mountain  House,  laid  in  stores  of  young  chick- 
ens and  fresh  eggs,  hired  half-grown  boys  to 
rifle  the  trout-streams,  and  set  himself  up  in  a 
flourishing  business  with  summer  boarders. 
I  There  were  young  men,  now,  to  keep  Don  Mig- 
uel company  in  fishing,  hunting,  and  driving  ; 
for  the  Spanish  gentleman  had  not  yet  returned 
to  Havana.  He  was  waiting  the  pleasure  of 
his  cousin,  he  said,  who  had  not  decided 
whether  she  preferred  the  North  or  the  South. 
As  for  Inez,  she  hardly  thought  it  prudent  to 
return  to  Cuba  in  the  hot  season,  now  that  she 
had  become,  in  a  measure,  acclimated  here. 

Even  if  she  had  had  no  deeper  reason  for  de- 
siring to  remain  in  Hampton,  the  prospect  of 
gayety  was  enough  to  bewitch  her  ;  her  cousin 
was  so  popular  and  so  admired,  that  the  over- 
flow of  the  attention  he  received  quite  deluged 
her  and  Lillian.  And,  indeed,  with  some  one 
to  dress  her,  indulge  her,  wait  upon  her,  and 
*' bring  out  her  good  points,"  she  would  have 
been  a  belle  anywhere.  The  fact  of  her  having 
been  the  bride  of  a  few  weeks  and  the  widow  of 
a  few  months,  only  added  to  the  interest  felt  in 
the  beautiful  Cuban,  the  dark  splendor  of  whose 
eyes  was  supposed  to  borrow  its  deepest  charm 
from  the  pensive  fall  of  eye-lashes  which  knew 
well  when  to  droop.  Doubtless,  it  would  have 
put  the  finishing-touch  to  her  attractions,  if  it 
could  have  been  announced  that  the  mystery  of 
Meredith  Place  had  been  solved  by  a  discovery 
of  the  missing  gold  ;  Don  Miguel,  who  was  as 
worldly-wise  as  he  was  polite  and  fascinating, 
smiling  in  his  sleeve  when  certain  elegant 
youths,  who  hardly  knew  how  to  pay  their 
board-bills,  endeavored  to  draw  from  him, .  in 
confidence,  how  much  of  a  settlement  he  in- 
tended to  bestow  on  his  favorite  cousin. 

The  Chateaubriands  were  the  leaders  in  all 
in-door  gayeties,  as  Don  Miguel  was  in  all  out- 
door excursions. 

The  young  ladies  commanded  almost  as  many 
followers  as  they  could  have  done  at  Saratoga, 
which,  in  these  days,  was  the  watering-place  ; 
and,  for  once,  Miss  Sophie,  the  younger,  had 
her  full  share  of  attention,  for  it  was,  by  this 
time,  pretty  well  understood  that  the  elder  was 
affianced  to  the  young  broker  and  lawyer  who 
came  out  every  Saturday  from  the  city,  and  re- 
mained until  Monday  morning. 

Yes,  Bertha  Chateaubriand,  in  the  midst  of 


picnics,  rides,  drives,  and  evening  reunions,  had 
to  take  time  to  prepare  her  trousseau,  as  her 
wedding-day  was  set  for  the  20th  of  July,  after 
which  a  six- weeks  bridal  tour  was  to  follow. 

Her  parents  had  consented  to  her  marrying 
Mr.  Miller,  seeing  that  she  obstinately  declared 
her  purpose  to  do  so,  with  or  without  their 
consent ;  but  they  were  far  from  satisfied 
with  the  alliance.  They  had  expected  their 
eldest  and  handsomest  daughter  would  make  a 
more  brilliant  match — some  foreign  diplomat, 
or  leading  politician  among  our  own  distin- 
guished men,  being  the  least  to  which  they  had 
aspired,  Mr.  Chateaubriand  having  quite  inti- 
mate relations  with  great  people  in  public  life, 
and  being  more  ambitious  for  power  than 
money.  It  was  a  disappointment  of  very  an- 
noying character  to  find  that  Bertha  preferred 
this  unknown  lawyer,  whose  sister  actually 
earned  her  own  living ;  but,  the  family  had 
been  wealthy  in  Miss  Miller's  younger  days  ; 
they  liked  her,  and  Arthur  evidently  was  ac- 
quiring money — he  appeared  well  at  a  dinner- 
party, or  in  the  waltz — would  sometime  be  a 
wealthy  old  broker,  as  his  expected  father-in- 
law  was  before  him,  and  with  this  they  were 
obliged  to  be  content.  Having  once  yielded, 
they  had  the  good  sense  to  refrain  from  irritat- 
ing Miss  Bertha  with  complaints  or  sarcasms, 
and  furnished  money  for  the  trousseau  almost  as 
liberally  as  if  her  fiancee  had  been  a  member 
of  the  French  Legation,  or  a  German  count. 

It  might  be  thought  that  Arthur  Miller  would 
have  preferred  the  Chateaubriands  to  have 
taken  almost  any  other  than  Meredith  Place, 
where  he  had  once  desperately  flirted  with  Inez, 
if  not  with  Lillian  also,  and  where  he  would 
have  to  meet,  continually,  the  fiery  and  jealous 
gaze  of  the  Cuban.  But,  for  reasons  of  his  own, 
he  was  well  satisfied.  * 

Everything  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell. 
Inez  had  plenty  of  cavaliers,  and,  if  she  cherished 
resentment  or  revenge,  she  hid  it,  for  the  pres- 
ent, deep  in  her  heart.  She  and  Sophie  Chateau- 
briand grew  to  be  great  friends,  and  were  to- 
gether almost  daily  and  hourly.  Acpording  to 
Sophie,  Inez  was  one  of  the  most  childish,  art- 
less, and  exquisitely  delightful  beings  that  ever 
lived — a  little  pettish  and  exacting,  flying  in  a 
passion  to  get  over  it  in  a  minute  :  but  even 
this  high  temper  was  one  of  her  charms — she 
indulged  it  in  such  an  open,  infantile  way. 

Sophie  bore  it  with  the  utmost  sang  froid, 
when  Bertha,  whose  choice  was  already  made, 
remarked,  pungently,  that  it  was  plain  the 
lady  was  only  a  faint  reflection  of  the  perfec- 
tions of  her  cousin,  Don  Miguel  de  Almeda. 

"I  don't  deny  it,"  laughed  Sophie,  going  to 
the  great  mirror  of  the  boudoir  where  they  sat 


78 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


— the  little  east  chamber  which  had  once  been 
Lillian's — and  drawing  her  pale,  flaxen  ringlets 
through  her  fingers  out  to  their  full  length, 
while  she  studied  the  contour  of  her  slender 
figure,  the  poise  of  her  head,  the  turn  of  her 
nose,  and  the  shade  of  color  in  her  blue  eyes — 
"  that  if  I  were  as  handsome  as  you,  Bertha,  I 
should  make  a  tremendous  effort  to  conquer  the 
Don.  You  must  acknowledge  he's  far  superior 
to  Arthur.  Wouldn't  mamma's  eyes  dance,  if 
I  could  bring  that  splendid  cavalier  to  her  feet 
as  a  suitor  for  her  second  daughter's  hand  !" 

"  Why  don't  you  set  yourself  seriously  to  the 
work,  then?"  queried  Bertha.  "Papa  would 
be  pleased  to  have  a  live  Don  in  the  family. 
He  has  never  been  fully  Americanized — papa 
has  not.  The  noble  blood  of  his  French  father 
still  runs  in  his  veins  too  freely  to  allow  of  his 
being  a  good  republican.  Catch  the  Don, 
Sophie,  and  make  him  happy  for  life." 

"Who?— the  Don,  or  papa?" 

"  Both,  if  you  can.  Why  not?  Don  Miguel 
is  remarkably  good-tempered,  for  a  Spaniard. 
If  I  had  not  been  already  promised  to  my  dear 
Arthur,  I'm  not  certain  what  the  effect  would 
have  been  upon  me,  of  his  magnificent  manners, 
dress,  and  all  that.   Dazzling,  I  dare  say !" 

"It's  fortunate  I'm  not  so  impressible,  since 
the  current  report  in  Hampton  is,  that  he  is  a 
perfect  slave  to  Lillian  Meredith.  I'm  not 
beautiful  enough  to  engage  in  a  rivalry  with 
her." 

"  Nonsense  1  You've  grown  very  modest  all 
at  once.  Your  style  is  the  same  as  hers — a 
blonde,  blue  eyes,  light  hair,  rosy  cheeks;  and 
certainly  you  have  every  advantage  of  dress, 
air,  and  manner,  as  well  as  your  father's  po- 
sition in  society." 

"  Advantage  of  dress  I  acknowledge,  and  of 
family  —  that  is,  of  money,  for  I  believe  Dr. 
Meredith  was  a  gentleman,  and  a  man  of  talent ; 
for  the  rest,  I  give  up,  without  competing.  I've 
tried  to  find  fault  with  her,  and  I  can  not,  and 
what  more  can  a  rival  say  than  that  ?  How- 
ever, don't  think  I  utterly  despair.  Inez  con- 
fides to  me  that  Lillian  has  refused  Don  Miguel — 
would  you  believe  it  ?  She  tells  him  that  her 
spirits  are  so  broken  by  the  tragedy  of  her 
father's  death,  that  she  would  not  be  such  a 
wife  as  he  deserves  —  that  she  can  not  even 
think  of  love,  as  yet ;  that  she  never  expects  to 
marry !  Did  you  ever  ?  Throws  away  this 
brilliant  opportunity — probably  her  only  one — 
and  clings  to  that  tiresome  little  school !  I 
hardly  know  what  to  make  of  her ! — though 
I'm  much  obliged  to  her,  I'm  sure,  for  refusing 
the  Don.  It  seems  he  is  not  greatly  discouraged 
by  her  coyness,  as  he  persists  in  waiting  until 
she  has  changed  her  mind. ' ' 


"In  the  meantime,  do  your  best,  my  love, 
to  make  him  change  his  mind.  It  would  be 
such  a  balm  to  the  wound  I  have  inflicted  on 
the  family  pride!"  And  the  beauty  went  on 
with  her  interesting  task  of  basting  a  piece  oi| 
yellow  Chateaubriand  lace  around  the  neck  of  a 
salmon-colored  satin  evening  dress,  whose  tint  J8 
was  scarcely  deeper  than  that  of  the  lace. 

Sophie  turned  from  the  mirror,  and  threw  fj 
herself  indolently  into  her  favorite  seat — the 
low  and  deep  embrasure  of  the  window,  close  al 
beside  which,  on  the  outside,  rose  the  tower 
which  gave  to  Meredith  Place  its  distinguishing  p 
feature  of  dignity.    The  house  was  one  of  those  K 
to  which  such  an  adjunct  was  not  inappropriate, 
being  built  of  solid  blocks  of  smooth  gray  ^ 
stone,  and  the  tower  rising  out  of  its  eastern 
and   northern  angle,  clothed  from  head  to 
foot  with  the  glorious  old  Irish  ivy,  whose  *[ 
dark  green  leaves  glistened  in  the  June  sun- 
light. 

A  joy  forever  that  ivy  had  been  in  the  eyes 
of  Lillian,  from  her  babyhood  up,  and  hex  111 
wistful  gaze  turned  often  towards  it  now  in  the 
days  of  her  exile.    Perhaps  Sophie  felt  some  ol  ^ 
the  weird,  magnetic  influence  of  the  place — for,  1 
as  she  sat  in  the  window,  gazing  out  at  the 
tower,  and  breathing  the  breath  of  the  rosee 
which  swung  at  her  own  casement,  her  face  1 
took  on  an  awed  expression,  and  she  spoke,  aftei  " 
a  time: 

"  Bertha,  do  you  know  sometimes  I  feelj 
afraid  in  this  solemn  old  house !    All  tbe!  ^ 
neighbors  hold  to  the  unshaken  belief  that  it  is  0 
haunted ;  every  old  farmer  will  have  a  story  to  ' 
tell  you  about  it.    They  say  the  doctor's  spirit  ' 
is  wandering  about  it,  searching  for  his  losi  c 
gold  ;  some  think  that  nephew  who  murdered  1 
him  is  still  lurking  about,  living  in  caves,  oi 
dens,  or  what  not,  and  that  he  visits  the  place  : 
whenever  he  dares.    Ugh !  the  very  thought 
makes  me  shiver !  Fancy  that  demoniac  young  1 
man  coming  in  at  windows  of  nights,  and  look- 
ing at  us  as  we  sleep !    I'm  certain,  Bertha—  1 
certain,  that  some  one  was  in  that  queer  room  thej 
call  the  laboratory  last  Saturday  night !    I  saJ  ; 
up  reading  a  novel  until  very  late,  and  I  weni 
to  the  dining-room  for  a  glass  of  ice-water—  ( 
about  two  o'clock,  it  must  have  been — and  1 
heard  a  noise  in  there — a  curious  noise,  whici  1 
I  could  hardly  explain  ;  it  sounded  like  souk 
mysterious  miser  counting  out  his  money !" 

"  Nonsense  !    You  had  been  reading  a  ghost- 
story,  I  suppose." 

*  "No:  nothing  worse  than  Jane  Eyre.  3 
did  hear  something,  as  truly  as  I  see  yot 
now!" 

"Mice  running  amongst  the  bottles,  I  sup 
pose." 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


79 


"  Perhaps;  but  I  don't  think  it.  It  had  a 
very  supernatural  sound,  I  assure  you.  By  the 
way,  you  and  Arthur  keep  very  late  hours. ' ' 

"Do  you  call  eleven  o'clock  'late  hours'?" 

"  Oh,  no,  puss  ;  but  I  happen  to  know  better 
than  that.  I  heard  some  one  pass,  in  the  up- 
per hall,  while  I  was  undressing,  and  I  was  so 
nervous  about  our  being  haunted,  that  I  screwed 
my  courage  to  the  sticking-point,  and  peeped 
out,  just  in  time  to  see  Arthur  close  his  room 
door.    It  was  half-past  two  by  my  watch." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  he  may  have 
done,  but  mamma  sent  me  to  bed  at  eleven. 
Perhaps  he,  too,  had  a  copy  of  that  fascinating 
Jane  Eyre.  I  have  heard  of  its  keeping  several 
people  up  until  the  '  wee  sma'  hours.'  " 

There  was  a  pause,  while  Bertha  finished  off 
the  neck  of  the  dress  and  turned  her  attention 
to  the  sleeves.  Then  the  younger,  whose 
thoughts  had  run  on  in  the  same  channel, 
resumed : 

"  Inez  often  talks  with  me  about  the  Doctor's 
missing  money.  She  firmly  believes  that  it  is 
still  somewhere  about  this  house  or  garden ;  for 
she  says  her  husband  himself  secreted  it  the 
night  before  his  death." 

"  Oh,  all  the  world  knows  that  the  theory  is, 
that  he  was  followed  by  his  nephew,  who  saw 
where  the  box  was  placed,  and  then  resolved 
to  get  his  uncle  out  of  the  way,  that  he  alone 
might  enjoy  the  concealed  riches." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it.  But  still  Inez  persists  in 
believing  that  he  did  not  succeed  in  getting 
off  with  the  gold.  She  says  he  could  hardly 
have  escaped  detection  had  he  carried  so  much 
with  him.  Perhaps  he  is  still  keeping  watch 
over  it,  awaiting  an  opportunity  to  convey  it 
away." 

"  They  have  searched  everywhere,  even  to 
digging  up  every  foot  of  the  garden." 

"  I  know  it.  Still,  who  knows  but  what  we 
may  stumble  over  it  sometime  ?  Inez  is  always 
looking.  I  have  a  fancy  now,  that  it  is  in  the 
very  top  of  that  tower !" 

"Do  be  quiet,  Sophie.  You  make  me 
nervous." 

"Here  comes  Inez.  I  was  just  saying,  my 
dark-eyed  darling,  that  perhaps  your  fortune 
lay  concealed  in  some  cobwebby  nook  in  this 
old  tower." 

"  Oh,  every  beam  and  rafter  has  been  inves- 
tigated long  ago,— the  loose  boards  of  the 
garret-floor  all  lifted.  No,  no,  it's  not  there  ! 
I  wish  I  could  find  it.  I'm  tired  of  being  poor ! ' ' 

"  You  do  seem  rather  poverty-stricken,"  re- 
marked Bertha,  scanning  with  laughing  eyes 
Inez'  costly  morning-robe,  and  the  jewels 
which  she  wore,  with  southern  taste,  by  day  as 
well  as  evening." 


"My  cousin  is  generous  enough;  he  can 
afford  to  give  me  what  I  want.  But  that  is  not 
all  one  wants  money  for, — to  buy  clothes !" 

"  To  buy  a  husband  is  it,  then  ?"  Bertha  was 
on  the  point  of  saying,  when  prudence  as  well 
as  delicacy  checked  her ;  she  had  heard  that 
her  own  promised  husband  had  been  not  insen- 
sible to  the  lady's  attractions  ;  and  as  she  now 
glanced  up  she  met  a  strange  look  in  the  black 
eyes. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  is  jealous,"  she  thought,  as 
her  own  eyes  fell.  ' 4  Arthur  told  me  that  she 
was,  but  that  he  had  never  given  her  any  reason 
to  be, — that  it  was  her  natural  state  of  feeling 
towards  all  women  save  herself." 

"  Why  do  you  wear  amber?"  cried  Inez,  the 
next  moment,  as  if  no  more  important  thought 
ever  crossed  her  mind,  with  a  disdainful  exami- 
nation of  the  satin  dress.  ' '  Do  you  not  know 
that  it  is  a  color  for  brunettes ? — my  color?" 

"It  is  becoming  to  brunettes,  and  not  un- 
becoming to  dark-haired  blondes,  like  me.  Ar- 
thur likes  it,  and  that  settles  the  matter." 

"  He  likes  it,  does  he  ?"  murmured  Inez. 

"  Yes.  This  belongs  to  my  trousseau.  I  shall 
not  wear  it  until  after  the  'important  occa- 
sion !'  " 

"That  will  be—" 

"  The  twentieth  of  next  month." 

"And  this  is — " 

"The  twentieth  of  June.  Ah  me!  Time 
flies  too  quickly !" 

"Yes  it  does,"  assented  Inez,  "but  a  great 
deal  can  be  accomplished  in  a  month,  after  all." 

If  her  tone  was  significant,  the  two  girls  did 
not  notice  it.  Arthur  Miller  might  have  re- 
marked it,  had  he  been  present ;  for  he  never 
felt  quite  at  ease  about  the  Spanish  woman,  with 
whose  passionate  nature  he  was  only  too  well 
acquainted.  It  is  true  she  had  made  the  first 
advances,  since  advances  can  be  made  by  a  look 
as  well  as  a  word ;  but  he  knew  that  she  was 
very  young,  and  a  creature  of  untrained  impulses, 
and  that  nothing  could  justify  his  trifling  with 
her  as  he  had  done. 

If  any  one  could  have  seen  into  the  heart  of 
the  young  man,  he  would  have  discovered  that 
his  fancy  and  his  imagination  still  were  held 
captive  by  the  willful,  spirited  Cuban  ;  that  it 
was  only  the  preponderance  of  Bertha's  sub- 
stantial charms  which  had  outweighed  her  in 
the  balance  ;  but,  as  his  love,  either  way,  and  at 
the  best,  is  not  worth  mentioning  as  a  motivo 
power,  we  will  let  it  pass  for  what  it  is  worth. 

Women  will  love  such  men  just  as  devotedly 
as  those  of  deeper  natures,  and  prize  their  poor, 
selfish  preferences  just  as  highly  ;  and  Inez  felt- 
as  bitterly,  as  humiliated,  as  revengeful  about 
the  desertion  of  this  insincere  and  shallow  man 


80 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


as  if  his  heart  had  been  something  worth 
retaining. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  if  I  am  to  be  one  of 
the  bridesmaids, ' '  she  said,  presently. 

"But  you  have  been  married;  it  would 
scarcely  be  en  regie.'1 

"  No  one  will  think  of  that,  I  am  so  young 
yet.  Sophie  and  I  will  make  such  a  fine  con- 
trast. If  you  say  1  yes, '  it  must  be  in  time  for 
me  to  order  a  suitable  dress. ' ' 

1 '  Oh,  do  consent,  Bertha  !  i"  should  like  it 
extremely  ;  and,  as  Inez  says,  no  one  will  think, 
at  the  time.  We  must  have  Lillian,  too— she 
is  so  lovely ! — and  one  more.  Who  shall  it 
be?" 

"I  don't  care,"  answered  the  bride-elect, 
indifferently;  "only,  I  trust  it  will  not  be 
ominous  to  have  a  widow  among  the  brides- 
maids. ' ' 

Again  that  light  quivering  out  of  Inez'  eyes. 

"  Inez,  supposing  we  go  up  in  the  tower-room. 
I've  not  been  there  since  the  first  week  we  came 
out.  The  view  is  beautiful.  I  mean  to  have  a 
carpet  put  down,  and  my  painting  and  embroi- 
dery carried  up  there.  Then  I  can  sit  there  the 
long  summer  afternoons,  and  imagine  myself 
the  Lady  of  Shalott,  or  the  betrothed  of  a 
troubadour  who  has  gone  to  the  wars. ' ' 

"  Better  be  securing  some  nice  hona-fide  beau,  J 
and  leave  off  dreaming  of  troubadours, ' '  called 
Bertha,  as  the  two  went  away,  linked  arm 
in  arm,  in  search  of  the  narrow,  dusty  stair- 
way leading  up  to  the  "tower-room,"  a  small, 
square  chamber,  unfurnished,  save  by  an  old 
map  of  Meredith  Place,  made  by  the  surveyor 
of  the  first  purchase,  and  hung  in  the  tower  for 
safe-keeping  and  reference — this  old  map,  a 
wooden  settle,  where  those  who  climbed  here 
for  the  view,  might  rest  themselves — and  a  store 
of  old  magazines  and  papers,  which  Lillian 
Meredith  had  brought  here,  probably,  from 
<ame  to  time,  to  read  and  muse  over. 

"Some  one  comes  here,  if  we  do  not,"  re- 
marked Sophie,  as  they  held  up  their  delicate 
dresses  from  the  dusty  stairs;  "here  are  the 
prints  of  a  man's  boots,  going  up  and  coming 
down,  more  than  once.  Possibly  some  of  our 
visitors  have  discovered  the  beauties  of  this  lo- 
cation. Oh,  how  entrancing  !  clouds  and  blue 
ether  above  us  !  this  beautiful  country  below  ! 
I'm  in  love  with  this  room  !  absolutely  in  love 
with  it.  I  mean  to  live  and  die  here.  But 
first,  I  must  have  it  cleared  out !  Betty  shall 
attend  to  it  this  very  day.  And  to-morrow  I 
shall  bring  my  things  here,  and  take  up  my 
residence." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  sleep  here?"  inquired 
Inez,  with  a  shudder.  "  I  wouldn't  stay  here 
alone  for  all  the  world." 


"I'm  not  as  superstitious  as  you,  little  dar- 
ling. Still,  I  don' t  know  that  I  care  to  sleep 
here.  I  oan  enjoy  enough  of  my  tower  by  day- 
light and  sunset,  I  dare  say.  Ah,  how  splendid 
the  sunset  must  be  up  here!  Now,  Bertha 
hasn't  a  particle  of  romance  in  her  nature.  But 
I  am  full  of  it,  trifling  as  I  appear.  I  could  be 
happy  here  weeks  at  a  time,  without  the  ex- 
citement of  any  society.  I  do  wish  papa  would 
buy  Meredith  Place,  and  make  it  our  home  al- 
together, in  the  summer  season.  I  must  coax 
him  to  do  so.  What  does  this  yellow  old  map 
say  ?  two  hundred  and  eighty  acres, — and  here 
it  is,  marked  out,  hill  and  dale,  meadow  and 
upland,  forests  and  cleared  fields;  this  pretty 
trout-brook  where  we  took  the  gentleman  the 
other  day,  you  remember,  and  your  cousin 
caught  a  trout  on  a  hook  made  of  a  pin.  I 
wonder  if  we  can  see  it  from  the  tower !  Yes, 
there  it  is,  glimmering  a  moment  out  of  its 
shadow  in  that  field  by  the  wood  : 

*  I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out, 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing, 
And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling.' 
Isn't  it  perfect,  Inez  ?" 

"What?"  queried  her  companion,  with  in- 
difference,— "the  brook?  I  suppose  so.  But, 
I  don't  care  for  such  things.  I  wish  Meredith 
j  Place  was  mine — as  it  should  be — as  it  ought  to 
be" — her  voice  rising  with  excitement  as  she 
thought  of  it ;  "I  would  gladly  sell  it  to  your 
father,  and  see  no  more  of  it.  I  don't  like  the 
country,  and  I  don't  like  this  place.  We  were 
so  unhappy  here, "  she  explained,  "Lillian  and 
I.    And  then  to  be  robbed,  as  we  were. ' ' 

"  You  have  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble,"  re- 
plied Sophie,  soothingly.  4 '  It  must  have  been 
so  hard  for  you  two  young  girls  to  be  left  help- 
less. I  can  not  imagine  what  I  would  do  with- 
out papa,  and  without  any  money.  I  suppose 
I  should  have  to  teach  school,  as  Miss  Meredith 
does  ;  but,  oh,  dear,  I  should  pity  my  pupils ! 
I  suppose  Miss  Miller  was  a  great  comfort  to 
you,  in  your  first  desolation." 
"  No,  not  to  me.  I  detest  her !" 
"  Why,  is  it  possible  ?  We  all  think  so  much 
of  her." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Sophie.  I  forgot  that 
her  brother  was  to  marry  your  sister.  Lillian 
thinks  the  world  of  her  ;  but  I  never  did.  She 
was  jealous  of  me  when  I  first  came  here  ;  I 
could  guess  that  she  did  not  like  my  marrying 
the  doctor,  but  you  must  not  mention  it,  please, 
Sophie.  Her  eyes  look  straight  through  any 
one.  I  never  like  to  meet  them.  If  you  really 
like  Meredith  Place  so  much,  you  must  make 
yourself  agreeable  to  Miguel.  He  tells  me  he  is 
negotiating  for  it,  himself.  I  do  believe  he  iu- 
tends  giving  it  back  to  Lillian,  whether  she 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


81 


marries  Mm  or  not.  He  need  not  "buy  it  on  my 
account,  as  I  told  him,  for  I  would  never  live 
here  again. 

I  wish  Miguel  would  marry  you  instead  of 
Lily  ;  then  I  might  be  induced  to  visit  her  oc- 
casionally. I  suppose,  in  that  case,  you  would 
spend  your  summers  here." 

"How  ridiculous!"  cried  her  friend,  blush- 
ing, "  to  he  speaking  of  such  things,  when  he 
has  never  thought  of  me.  You  speak,  too,  as 
if  Don  Miguel  had  only  to  choose  in  order  to  be 
chosen." 

"  Well,  Sophie,  you  couldn't  help  loving  him. 
you  know,  if  he  should  try  to  make  you  !  There 
are  not  many  men  like  my  cousin. ' ' 

Sophie  said  nothing  ;  but  there  was  a  shadow 
on  her  fair  face,  as  the  two  turned  and  went 
down  the  staircase.  Frivolous  as  their  mode  of 
life  naturally  made  her,  she  had  more  real  feel- 
ing than  three  such  girls  as  Bertha,  and  it  is 
not  impossible  that  she  admired  Don  Miguel 
more  than  was  consistent  with  her  happiness. 
However,  she  was  by  no  means  one  of  the  de- 
sponding and  melancholy  kind ;  her  interest, 
at  present,  fixed  itself  on  the  tower-chamber, 
and  she  gave  the  household  no  peace,  until 
Betty  had  swept  down  the  cobwebs,  laid  a  car- 
pet on  the  floor,  scoured  the  stairs,  and  carried 
up  a  little  table  to  hold  her  water-color  paints 
and  work-basket.  Then,  with  the  ivy  curtain- 
ing the  narrow  and  lofty  windows,  and  the 
June  breezes  wandering  up  from  the  beds  of 
roses  below,  Sophie  declared  it  the  region  mid- 
way between  heaven  and  earth  where  she  most 
delighted  to  dwell,  and  made  every  one  come 
up  and  acknowledge  how  charming  it  was. 

She  was  not  tired  of  talking  of  her  tower- 
chamber,  when  Saturday  evening  came,  and 
with  it  Arthur  Miller,  as  usual,  to  spend  Sun- 
day with  his  betrothed.  There  were  half  a 
dozen  other  guests  about  the  tea-table,  eating 
strawberries  and  cream  to  their  hearts'  content, 
when  Sophie,  sitting  opposite  Arthur,  suddenly 
exclaimed  in  her  animated  way  : 

"I  have  not  told  you  yet,  of  my  great  dis- 
covery. ' ' 

'What  is  that?"  he  asked,  with  his  plea- 
santest  smile. 

"  Of  the  tower-chamber  !" 
His  spoon  fell  crushing  into  his  plate,  causing 
*11  eyes  to  turn  in  his  direction.  His  face  was 
pal 3  and  his  hand  trembled,  but  he  laughed, 
constrainedly,  as  he  said  "he  believed  he  had 
bad  something  resembling  a  sunstroke,  as  he 
walked  down  to  the  cars,  and  he  did  not  feel 
ust  right  yet."  Bertha  wanted  to  be  anxious 
ibout  him,  but  he  assured  her  the  tea  would  be 
the  best  remedy,  and  when  the  attention  he  had 
attracted  was  again  diverted,  he  said  to  Sophie  : 


"  "What  about  the  tower — anything  new?" 
"Oh,  no,  nothing  new — only  we  never  dis- 
covered it  before." 
1 '  Discovered  what  f ' 

""Why,  how  charming  it  is  up  there,  of 
course.    I  shall  no  lunger  give  it  over  to  spi- 
ders and  bats.    I  have  had  the  chamber  fur- 
j  bished  and  furnished,  and  have  taken  posses- 
sion in  my  own  name,  by  right  of  discovery.  I 
!  call  it  '  The  Lady's  Bower.'  " 
"Is  that  all?" 

"I  should  say  it  was  enough.  Did  you  ex- 
I  pect  there  was  another  continent  to  be  di- 
'  vulged  ?  Since  you  speak  so  slightingly  of  my 
j  bower,  your  punishment  shall  be  to  ascend  and 
:  explore  it  immediately  after  tea.  It  is  then  in 
all  its  glory. ' ' 

"  Arthur  is  fatigued.  Do  let  the  bower  rest 
until  to-morrow."  Bertha  was  a  little  impa- 
tient. 

"  By  no  means, ' '  said  Arthur,  quickly.  ' '  I 
should  like  nothing  better  than  to  explore  it 
this  very  evening.  I  have  been  up  once  or  twice 
when  the  doctor"  s  family  was  here.  The  view 
is  very  fine,  if  I  remember  aright." 

And  as  soon .  as  they  left  the  table  he  re- 
minded Sophie  of  her  promise,  and  the  two 
went  up  to  the  tower,  just  then  illumined  with 
the  roseate  reflections  of  a  summer  sunset. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  charming.  I  can  not  too  much 
admire  your  discrimination,  little  sister.  Oh, 
dear  !  here  is  the  old  map  of  the  original  es- 
tate— quite  a  curiosity !  Don't  disturb  that, 
Miss  Sophie  ;  it  may  be  of  importance  to  pur- 
chasers sometimes. ' ' 

'•  Oh,  no  !  I  shall  not  meddle  with  the  map," 
said  his  companion,  and  after  that,  although  he 
was  warm  in  praise  of  her  bower,  he  seemed 
ready  to  forsake  it  for  the  company  of  the  young 
lady  who  awaited  him  below,  and  Sophie  was 
left  to  a  twilight  reverie  in  her  tower-chamber. 

CHAPTER  XYHT. 

A     FEW  THREADS. 

Miss  Miller  sat  in  the  little  low  chamber  of 
Lillian's  house  which  she  had  occupied  since 
the  day  of  the  accident,  which  had  disabled  her 
from  returning  to  the  city  for  such  a  length  of 
time  that  she  decided  to  have  Lillian  write  to 
Mrs.  Chateaubriand  to  procure  another  govern- 
ess, her  engagement  coming  to  a  close  in  a  few 
weeks,  at  best. 

It  was  now  the  first  of  July,  and  a  period  of 
rest  to  be  enjoyed;  to  her,  from  physical  pain, 
to  Lillian,  from  the  cares  of  her  school — this 
being  the  first  day  of  the  summer  vacation.  Miss 
Miller  leaned  back  in  her  arm-chair,  looking 
idly  out  of  the  window  and  listening  to  a  mur- 
mur of  voices  coming  up  from  the  parlor  he- 


82 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


neath;  she  could  distinguish  nothing  that  was 
said,  and  did  not  try  to ;  but  she  knew  who 
were  there,  and  the  probable  topic  of  their  con- 
versation. Her  face,  paler  and  thinner  than  its 
wont,  bore  the  look  of  mental  trouble.  Bodily- 
suffering  might  bring  pallor  and  loss  of  flesh, 
but  it  had  not  here,  for  the  woman's  courage 
was  great,  and  her  splendid  physique  enabled 
her  to  bear  the  pain  of  a  broken  arm  without 
flinching;  that  was  not  what  had  changed  her 
and  given  that  settled  contraction  to  the  black 
brows  and  drawn  lines  about  the  firm  mouth. 
The  low  fever  which  had  kept  her  a  prisoner  from 
April  until  July  was  entirely  a  mental  malady. 

There  had  been  no  gossip  whatever  in  the 
village  about  the  accident.  When  Lillian  re- 
ceived my  messages  by  Gram'me  Hooker,  she 
had  gone  alone  to  Meredith  Place,  unlocked 
the  door  whose  key  I  had  left  on  the  outside, 
sat  down  by  the  bed  where  her  friend  lay  look- 
ing up  at  her  with  defiant  eyes,  asked  and  re- 
ceived an  explanation. 

Whatever  that  explanation  was,  it  was  of  a 
character  not  to  entirely  break  the  existing 
friendship;  when  the  two  had  had  44  their  talk 
out,"  Miss  Meredith  called  gram'me  and  sent 
her  to  the  hotel,  with  a  penciled  message  to 
Arthur  Miller  to  come,  quietly,  with  a  carriage, 
for  his  sister  had  been  injured  by  a  fall  at  the 
old  house,  and  needed  assistance  to  return  to 
her  (Lillian's)  home. 

Arthur  had  responded  speedily  to  the  call. 
He  must  have  been  very  much  alarmed,  for  he 
was  trembling  visibly,  and  was  whiter  than  his 
sister  when  he  came  into  the  laboratory. 

1 4  Good  heavens,  Annie  !  What — how — ' ' 

"Never  mind  the  what  or  how,  Arthur.  I 
fell  and  broke  my  arm.  A  physician  has  al- 
ready set  it.  What  I  want  of  you  is  to  convey 
.me  home  before  the  neighbors  get  a  hint  of 
what  has  occurred  and  come  crowding  in." 

He  gave  a  sharp  glance  about  the  room.  Lil- 
lian, at  Miss  Miller's  request,  had  previously 
.gathered  up  the  money  in  the  bag  and  placed 
M,  in  a  little  basket  on  her  arm,  yielding  to  the 
former's  suggestion  to  keep  matters  quiet  by 
concealing  from  the  public  what  had  been  dis- 
covered. 

il  You  must  have  been  out  early,"  remarked 
Arthur,  when  his  survey  was  completed,  ' 1  Was 
Miss  Meredith  with  you? — and  how  did  you 
contrive  to  fall  in  that  awkward  style  ?" 

"  I  was  out  early;  Lillian  was  not  with  me; 
and  you  know  I  am  always  awkward.  I  don't 
feel  much  like  indulging  in  long  explanations." 

Something  in  her  tone  brought  the  blood  into 
,hkf  ace,  which  was  now  as  red  as  it  had  been  pale. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  hurt  no  worse,  Annie," 
ise  said,  after  an  instant's  hesitation;  and  for 


once  in  his  life  there  did  really  seem  to  be 
touch  of  genuine  feeling  in  his  tones.    44  M 
state  of  mind  was  not  enviable  when  I  receive  j 
the  message,  not  knowing  how  serious  the  acc 
dent  might  have  been." 

And,  indeed,  he  still  looked  haggard. 

4  4 1  have  the  easiest  carriage  I  could  get  t 
the  livery.  Come,  sis,  shall  I  help  you  up  nov: 
And  who  set  your  broken  arm? — has  old  Doct<  j 
Smith  been  here  ?' ' 

44  Never  mind  about  the  doctor.    It  is  se 
and  that  suffices.  Now." 

She  walked  firmly  .enough  to  the  carriag 
but  its  motion,  as  they  drove  over  the  coin; 
try-road,  was  a  pretty  severe  trial;  and  whf 
they  helped  her  out  at  the  cottage,  she  w; 
quite  ready  to  go  to  bed. 

That  night  she  insisted  on  her  brother  sta; 
ing  with  her,  and  lying  on  the  couch  in  h< 
chamber,  saying  that  she  was  feverish  at 
should  want  occasional  attention,  and  that  Ll<  s 
should  not  be  broken  of  her  rest; — Sabbal 
night  the  same,  it  would  be  time  enough  f»j  i 
Lillian  to  take  her  turn  when  Arthur  was  r 
longer  there.    He  had  submitted  quite  meekl;  ] 
and,  altogether,  was  so  attentive  to  his  siste'  i 
so  obedient  to  her  caprices,  so  really  anxioi,  it 
about  her,  as  to  rise  considerably  in  Lillian's  e,  ' 
teem,  who  usually  had  small  respect  for  him.  1 1 

Inez  could  hardly  feel  sorry  at  Miss  Miller i  k 
sufferings— she  was  thereby  given  so  fine  an  o;j  p 
portunity  for  trying  the  charms  with  which  tl  p 
old  woman  of  the  forest  had  supplied  her;  an<  jii 
whether  the  spell  worked,  or  whether  it  we:  I  ril 
simply  that  the  black  eyes  were  present  and  tl  k 
blue  ones  absent,  Arthur  was  at  her  feet  as  3  B 
the  days  before  he  met  Bertha,  begging  fcj  b 
Spanish  songs,  and  smiling  to  see  the  light  glo  i 
in  those  wonderful,  lustrous  eyes. 

But  the  greatest  change  which  the  events 
the  last  two  days  had  worked  was  in  the  mil!  r 
of  Lillian  Meredith.    Any  one,  knowing  b  " 
well,  as  Miss  Miller  did,  would  have  said  th 
she  had  found  relief  from  some  pressing  ar|  k 
constant  care.    It  could  not  have  been  the  a)  jty 
quisition  of  the  thousand  dollars  which  hej 
come  so  strangely  into  her  possession,  whi(  i 
thus  lightened  her  steps  and  brightened  h  e 
eyes.    What  Miss  Miller  had  told  her,  on 
themselves  knew.    My  letter  could  not  hal  S 
had  the  effect  I  desired,  since  her  governess  st!  ■ 
was  her  dear  friend,  and  no  viper,  as  I  had  il  I 
formed  her  she  ought  to  consider  her.    Had  f. 
been  where  I  could  have  observed  the  effect  j  i 
should  have  told  myself  that  the  consumma 
art  of  that  woman  had  carried  her  safely  throuj 
this  disaster,  and  left  me  lower  sunken  thii  h 
ever  in  the  opinion  of  the  only  person  on  ear  I 
for  whose  opinion  I  cared. 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


S3 


But  I  was  far  away  from  there  at  length,  con- 
sidering that  my  intermeddling  had  accom- 
plished all  it  ever  would  ;  and  as  Gram' me 
Hooker's  education  had  never  reached  to  the 
height  of  inditing  and  directing  a  letter  without 
assistance,  and  as  I  had  forgotten  to  arrange 
with  her  to  address  me  under  an  assumed  name, 
I  was  entirely  without  means  of  knowing  how 
the  story  of  life  was  unfolding,  leaf  hy  leaf,  at 
Meredith  Place. 

Unfolding,  rosily  enough,  under  the  apple- 
blossoms  of  May  and  the  flowery  bowers  of  June, 
is  far  as  any  human  eye  might  read.    For,  as 
has  been  written,  there  was  an  unusual  amount 
3f  gayety;  youth,  leisure,  and  wealth,  held  high 
holiday,  not  only  at  the  old  mansion,  but 
ill  around  the  pleasant  village.    It  was  to  be 
Gaken  for  granted  that  the  bride  elect  was  kap- 
3y;  Sophie  had  her  beaux  and  Inez  her  cava- 
j  iers,  while  Lillian  was  followed  by  Don  Miguel 
is  by  a  shadow. 
ii    And  now,  as  said  at  the  beginning  of  this 
:  mapter,  summer  had  come,  bringing  with  it 
:  ;he  beginning  of  a  holiday  for  Lillian. 
1    Miss  Miller  sat,   thmking  and  listening, 
t  riiile  the  murmur  of  voices  went  on  below, 
a  Lt  last,  her  thoughts  over-ran  her  lips  : 
e    "  I  do  pray  that  she  will  decide  in  his  favor. 
.  f  she  accepts  him,  this  dark,  dark  night  of 
i  Loubt  and  sin  will  begin  to  break.    If  she  re- 
el uses  him,  what  is  there  for  any  of  us  but  suf- 
$  ering,  suffering,  disgrace  !    Ah,  me  !  if  I  could 
u  [uiet  the  voice  of  conscience — as  I  can,  as  I 
?  rill,  if  she  marries  the  Don.    She  will  be  rich, 
■jhen,  rich  and  happy  ;  hers  will  be  a  brilliant 
fijiestiny,  and  I  need  mar  no  other  to  make 
f  iers." 

lo4  Again  she  relapsed  into  reverie,  until  the 
ound  of  a  hasty  step,  of  some  one  going  out 
l{he  little  gate,  startled  her,  and  she  leaned 
2-prward  eagerly — 

\s  "He  has  gone  !    She  has  refused  him ! ' ' 
h  "You  are  the  picture  of  despair,"  cried  Lil- 
ian, breaking  into  her  room.    "What  has 
.^.appened  to  give  you  such  a  desperate  ex- 
pression?" 

■jj  Her  own  face  was  flushed  and  the  tear  on 
^er  cheek  was  not  dry. 

ij  ' '  It  is  you  who  must  tell  me  that,  child.  You 
new  my  heart  was  set  on  your  accepting 
'on  Miguel,  and  you  have  refused  him.  I 
in  tell  it  by  the  manner  of  his  leaving  the 
,j  ouse.  And  of  course  he  will  never  speak  to 
ou  again.  This  is  the  third  time." 
"He  should  not  have  persisted." 
"0,  Lily,  he  loves  you  so,  and  is  in  every 
4fay  a  gentleman.  I  do  not  know  what  you 
it  in  be  thinking  of,  to  throw  away  such  an  op- 
ortunity." 


I  ' 1  Opportunity,  for  what  ?" 
"  Getting  settled  in  life." 

"So  a  husband  is  only  to  be  viewed  as  a 
:  means  of  getting  settled  for  life !  Now,  I 
!  thought  you  had  more  enthusiastic  views,  my 
;  dear  friend.    And  as  for  the  settlement— are 

not  we,  you  and  I,  settled  for  life  ?    I  thought 

you  liked  it  as  much  as  I." 
j     ' '  You  dear,  heroic  darling  !  do  you  suppose 

I I  wish  to  devote  you,  in  your  youth  and 
j  beauty,  to  the  same  shrine  upon  which  I  was 

sacrificed?  If  you  can  do  no  better,  stay  with 
your  old  friend.  But,  here  is  a  vista  of  splen- 
dor opens  before  you  ;  even  your  vivid  imagi- 
nation could  never  have  pictured  anything 
better.  I  need  not  go  over  the  list  of  the  Don's 
good  qualities;  he  loves  you  sincerely,  wants 

j  you  for  his  wife,  and  you  strangely  refuse  him. 

j  Lillian,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

The  pure  blue  eyes  met  the  stormy,  troubled 
ones  of  her  friend. 

"I  do  not  love  him, — that  is  all.  He  is  a 
foreigner ;  our  tastes  and  habits  are  not  in 
sympathy.  I  admire  him  more  than  any  man 
I  ever  met ;  but  I  do  not  love  him — never 
shall.  I  do  not  care  for  the  gay  life  he  leads. 
My  native  woods  and  country  walks  are  dear  to 
me.  I  love  this  village,  and  I  love  you,  Miss 
Miller,  and  wish  to  spend  my  life  with  you. 
I  thought  we  should  'live  happily  ever  after,' 
as  they  say  in  novels,  and  here  you  are  doing 
your  best  to  drive  me  away  from  you." 

"There's  an  obstinate  grain  in  your  temper, 
Lillian." 

"  Perhaps  there  is.  If  so,  I  ought  to  be  glad 
of  it ;  for  surely  I  shall  need  a  mind  of  my 
own,  since  I  have  my  own  way  to  make  in  the 
world." 

"  But,  you  need  not  make  your  way;  another 
stands  ready  to  care  for  you,  and  that  is  what  I 
desire  to  see  done." 

"  Please,  say  no  more  about  it,"  pleaded  the 
young  girl,  kissing  the  other's  cheek;  "I'm 
wearied  out  with  my  argument  with  him.  He 
is  not  as  mild  as  an  angel,  I  assure  you; 
though  he  has  far,  far  more  self-control  than 
Inez.  He  went  away  deeply  offended,  despite 
of  the  tear  with  which  I  asked  him  to  forgive 
me  ;  but  if  anger  will  make  his  disappointment 
any  easier  to  bear,  I  shall  not  be  sorry.  I  sup- 
pose he  will  leave  Hampton,  taking  his  cousin 
with  him,  as  soon  as  the  wedding  is  over.  It 
is  only  three  weeks  until  then,  and  I  believe 
Inez  will  wish  to  remain. ' ' 

' 1  Since  you  persist  in  this  folly  of  throwing 
away  all  that  is  joyous  and  bright  in  your 
young  life,  I  must  say  that  the  sooner  those 
two  go  away  the  better.  I  would  give  much  to 
have  Inez  away  from  here  before  the  marriage. ' ' 


84 


THE  FIGUKE  EIGHT. 


"Why?" 

"To  tell  yon  the  truth,  I  am  afraid  of  a 
scene.  She  imagines  yet  that  she  has  an  inter- 
est in  Arthur." 

"I  hope  you  are  mistaken,  Miss  Miller.  She 
has  seemed  very  happy,  lately, — entirely  taken 
up  with  her  engagements  to  pleasure-parties 
and  in  planning  her  dress  for  the  coming 
occasion. ' ' 

"Inez  is  not  what  you  think  her,  child;  I 
am  glad  she  is  going  away  from  you." 

The  tears  welled  into  Lillian's  eyes. 

"She  has  "been  rather  of  a  trial,  in  some  re- 
spects, I  acknowledge, — hut,  after  all,  she  was 
my  father's  wife." 

A  shudder  which  she  could  not  repress  ran 
through  Miss  Miller's  frame. 

4 '  She  was — she  was,  Lily — that  is  the  worst 
of  it!" 

4 4Do  you  think  her  so  bad,  then  ?' ' 

"  Totally  unfit  to  have  been  his  wife.  She 
is  good  enough  for  Arthur,  though.  I  wish  he 
had  married  her  !' ' 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  this  af- 
ternoon ?  I  thought  Arthur  was  the  apple  of 
your  eye.  I  shall  believe  you  are  a  little  in- 
sane, you  talk  so  at  random." 

"Don't  say  that!"  with  a  horrified  air; 
4 4  you  may  be  touching  very  near  the  truth. 
Sometimes  I  think  I  am  losing  my  reason. 
What  would  you  think,  Lillian,  of  a  woman 
thirty-five  years  of  age,  of  keen  intellect  and 
good  moral  cultivation,  who  could  not  tell  right 
from  wrong  ?" 

"  Could  not  tell  right  from  wrong  ?" 

"Yes,  if  the  plainest  question  of  right  was 
put  to  her,  she  distorted  it,  twisted  it  to  suit  a 
glaring  wrong, — wouldn't  you  say  that  her 
mind  must  be  diseased  ?" 

Lillian  looked  up  into  the  deep,  dark  eyes, 
whose  troubled  gaze  turned  away  from  hers, 
wondering  at  the  anxious,  wrinkled  brow,  and 
the  sad  voice. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about, 
Miss  Miller ;  but  this  I  know,  your  mind  is 
sound  as  a  judge's  ought  to  be,  and  your 
heart — is  only  too  tender  to  a  clinging  orphan, 
who  has  no  other  friend," — and  she  laid  her 
head  on  the  other's  knee,  who  made  a  move- 
ment as  if  to  push  it  away,  but  restiained  her- 
self. 

Neither  spoke,  for  some  time,  then  Miss 
Miller  repeated: 

"I  wish  you  would  recall  Don  Miguel." 
"  I 'can  not." 

"  If  I  could  see  you  happily  married  to  him, 
I  believe  my  perplexities  would  be  at  an  end. ' ' 

"You  are  as  bad  as  some  match-making 
mammas." 


"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  I  want  you  to  do  wel 
my  child,  in  a  worldly  sense, — to  see  you  i 
possession  of  at  least  as  much  fortune  as  yc 
would  have  had  had  Dr.  Meredith  lived.  Thi 
would  content  me,  I  think,"  with  a  sigh. 

4 '  And  /  think  the  sooner  we  return  to  a 
ordinary  state  of  existence  the  sooner  we  sha 
be  content.  We  will  regard  Don  Miguel,  her 
after,  as  a  brilliant  meteor  flashing  across  oi 
Northern  sky  ;  now  we  must  be  satisfied  wit 
the  4  cold  light  of  stars. ' ' ' 

"Well,  Lillian,  I  can  only  say  that  you  ha^ 
disappointed  me,  and  made  great  trouble, 
you  only  could  V ' 

44  But  I  coidd  not,  Miss  Miller;  and  I  don't  lil 
to  feel  that  I  am  making  trouble,  or  being  o' 
stinate.    Perhaps  you  do  not  care  to  have  me 
live  with  you.    Perhaps  you  are  tired  of  me. ' 

"Lillian,  I  love  you  better  than  anything  < 
earth;  say  no  more;  I  have  hurt  your  feeling 
— let  it  pass.    That  is  not  the  worst.    You  w 
know,  soon  enough.    Justice  shall  be  done, 
soon  as  I  have  conquered  the  last  weakness 
my  nature.    Do  you  know  what  has  become 
Inez  this  afternoon?" 

4  4  She  went  to  walk  in  the  direction 
Gram'me  Hooker's." 

"Alone?" 

44 1  think  so.  She  has  taken  quite  a  fancy 
Gram'me;  they  have  long  talks  together  now- 
days." 

44  What  sort  of  person  is  Mrs.  Hooker  ?" 

4 1  You  have  seen  her  often  enough  to  jud 
for  yourself. ' ' 

4  4 1  mean  is  she  a  conscientious,  reliable  vv 
man;  or  is  she  one  of  those  who  would  do  aD 
thing  for  money?" 

4  4  Oh,  she  is  a  good  woman,' — I  wish  I  were 
good." 

4  4  Then  no  great  harm  can  come  from  In< 
visits. ' ' 

4 '  Of  course  not.    But,  I  am  surprised  th\h: 
Inez  is  so  interested  in  her,  when  she  used  or 
to  ridicule  her." 

4  4  Some    one  else  pays  long  visits,  fejf 
Gram'me  must  be  a  very  entertaining  c 
lady." 

Lillian  blushed.  4  4  Gram'me  and  I  have  be 
friends  ever  since  I  was  old  enough  to  reme: 
ber.  I  go  there  to  talk  over  old  times  with  If  \ 
and  to  see  to  her  wants,  and — ' '  she  paused,  j  L 
44  So  I  suppose,"  remarked  Miss  Miller,  dry 
44 1  do  believe  you  are  in  a  fault-finding  mo 
to-day,"  said  Lillian,  her  voice  trembling  sligl 
ly.  4 1 1  do  not  know  how  I  shall  put  you  ii 
better  humor  unless  I  go  and  provide  somethi 
very  nice  for  tea,"  and  with  that  sweetness 
disposition  which  made  her  what  she  was— 
lovable  to  all — she  conquered  the  resentnu 


:. 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


85 


e-  ie  felt  at  her  friend's  mariner,  and  went  down 
■;  i  the  little  kitchen  to  suggest  something  appe- 
V!  zing  for  the  invalid. 

^  When  she  had  gone,  Miss  Miller  sprang  to 
jr  feet  and  raged  about  the  little  room  like  a 
1  mess  in  her  den.  She  was  not  one  to  give 
13  ay  easily  to  outside  demonstrations  of  emo- 
i  on,  so  that,  had  Lillian  seen  her,  as  she  now 

01  jpeared,  with  clenched  hands  and  teeth  set  in 
1 3r  under  lip,  she  would  have  been  both  sur- 

rised  and  shocked. 
J  |"It  shall  be  done!    If  the  old  house  tum- 
^es  about  their  ears,  it  sliall  be  done  !   If  I  had 
assessed  courage  from  the  first,  fewer  friends 

2  ould  have  been  involved  in  the  ruin.  I  have 
ol  sen  the  golden  stream  wasting — wasting,  and 
|  iy  life-blood  has  wasted  with  it.  I  will  keep 
"  lence  till  the  twentieth  of  July, — until  after, 
c  -until  it  is  too  late — 0,  what  a  miserable  com- 
I  romise  !    How  am  I  punished  ! ' ' 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHl's  DRAMA. 

1  You  have  heard  of  hearts  caught  in  the  re- 
ound  ?  Tbis  threatened  to  be  the  fate  of  Don 
[iguel's,  and  Sophie  was  the  happy  maiden 
•ho  had  the  chance  of  catching  it.  Sophie  always 
ad  been  pretty  enough,  but  so  colorless  and  in- 

1  rt  beside  her  magnificent  and  spirited  sister,  as 

S  o  scarcely  receive  due  appreciation.  She  was 
ke  a  pink  rose  beside  a  scarlet  geranium,  or 
[adarne  Pauline' s  blue  dress  in  one  of  Joseph - 

\ie's  green  chairs. 
Now,  however,  the  excitement  of  hope  and 

Expectation, — and,  too,  we  will  do  her  the  just- 
re  to  confess— the  development  of  all  the  im- 
gination,  passion,  and  romance,  of  which  she 

1  ras  capable,  combined  with  country  air  and  the 
Dyous  business  of  preparing  for  her  sister's 

bedding,  were  acting  upon  her  far  more  efhca- 
iously  than  any  cosmetic  she  had  ever  tried. 

5  ler  lady-mother  looked  upon  her  with  adrnir- 

3  ag  surprise,  while  Bertha  condescended  to  ap- 
prove and  encourage,  now  that  no  danger  ex- 

( sted,  of  their  interests  clashing.  Sophie's  hair 
5ras  flaxen,  not  golden,  like  Lily's,  and  she 
[rained  it  into  flossy  ringlets,  very  becoming  to 
ier  fair,  delicate  face;  she  wore  roses  in  her 
Jfiair,  too,  after  Lillian's  fashion,  and  put  on 

ittle  shy,  graceful  airs  that  were  not  in  her 

isual  style. 

To  look  in  at  Meredith  Place  on  any  of  these 
golden,  languorous  July  days,  no  one  not  previ- 
ously informed  could  dream  of  the  tragedy 
vhich  had  darkened  it  a  little  over  a  year  ago, 
lor  that  the  icy  shadow  of  that  tragedy  had 
mly  withdrawn  itself  a  little  while,  and  was 
ireeping,  creeping  slowly  and  surely  back,  with  a 
(ouble  darkness  in  its  chill.    One  soul  there 

\ 


knew  of  the  approaching  shadow,  and  felt  the 
premonitory  gloom,  but  all  others  were  basking 
in  the  brightest  sunshine  of  their  lives.  Inez 
and  Lillian  were  at  the  house  almost  constantly, 
there  were  so  many  consultations  to  hold,  and 
so  many  pleasant  tasks  to  perform;  while  Miss 
Miller  could  not  refuse  the  urgent  solicitations 
of  Mrs.  Chateaubriand  to  stay  with  them  a  few 
weeks  and  take  upon  herself  a  portion  of  the 
responsibilities  weighing  down  the  matron — 
cares  no  heavier  than  the  ordering  of  refresh- 
ments, the  arrangement  of  rooms,  and  the 
small  details  of  invitations,  cards,  etc.,  so 
that  she  was  now  an  inmate  of  the  mansion, 
and  would  remain  there  until  after  the  wed- 
ding. 

A  troup  of  beautiful  girls — lighting  up  the 
old  place  with  their  sunny  faces,  exciting  them- 
selves delightfully  all  the  long  mornings  over 
new  dresses,  and  wreaths,  and  the  bridal  vail, 
allowing  themselves  to  be  entertained  by  am- 
bitious young  gentlemen  through  the  later 
hours  of  the  afternoon — at  evening  filling  the 
old  hall,  the  porches  and  parlors,  with  sweet 
laughter,  murmuring  asides,  music  and  song — 
cast  the  witchery  of  their  youth  and  loveliness 
over  the  ruins  of  the  past. 

Mrs.  Chateaubriand  was  busy  and  satisfied, 
now  that  her  second  daughter  promised  to  do 
so  well,  overlooking  the  mesalliance  of  the  first, 
and  making  a  great  pet  of  Lillian,  who  had 
been  such  a  little  goose  as  to  resign  Don  Miguel 
in  Sophie's  favor.  Not  that  any  one  was  by  any 
means  certain  that  the  Don  would  so  easily 
change  his  affections  ;  he  was  less  gay  than  for- 
merly, and  Ms  gaze  often  lingered  upon  Lillian 
with  more  of  sadness  than  anger  ;  but,  pride 
prompted  him  to  the  effort  of  being  attentive 
to  some  other  lady,  and  his  attentions  fell,  by 
chance,  upon  Sophie.  Even  this  was  much  to 
hope  from, — only  the  time  was  short ;  for,  di- 
rectly after  the  marriage  festivities,  Don  Mig- 
uel was  to  take  his  cousin  away  on  a  round  of 
the  fashionable  summer  resorts, — and  then,  in 
the  autumn,  back  to  Havana. 

Miss  Miller  was  the  only  one  who  did  not 
improve  under  the  sunny  influences  of  the  time. 
Pale,  wrapped  in  thought,  nervous,  easily  star- 
tled, with  no  appetite  and  no  spirits,  her  ill- 
ness had  left  her  in  a  state  which  gave  serious 
alarm  to  Lillian,  who  hoped  the  visit  at  Mrs. 
Chateaubriand's  would  do  her  friend  good,  but 
who  noticed  that  she  daily  grew  more  absent- 
minded,  walking  about  like  one  lost  in  dreams. 
In  fact,  Miss  Miller's  old  habit  of  sleep-walk- 
ing had  returned  upon  her,  in  the  present  state 
of  her  health,  and  many  nights  she  moved  like 
a  ghost  amid  the  garden-walks  and  along  the 
halls  of  Meredith  Place.    Mrs.  Chateaubriand 


8G 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


wished  some  one  to  share  her  room  in  order  to 
care  for  her,  and  break  up,  if  possible,  this  dan- 
gerous and  inconvenient  habit  of  sleep-walking, 
but  Miss  Miller  was  so  averse  to  having  a  ser- 
vant, or  even  one  of  the  young  ladies  in  her 
apartment,  that  the  suggestion  was  dropped. 

Her  brother  Arthur  manifested  real  uneasi- 
ness at  her  new  freaks  of  somnambulism,  and 
was  urgent,  almost  to  anger,  that  she  should 
have  some  one  sleep  with  her,  but  she  persistent- 
ly refused.  He  came  up  a  fortnight  before  the 
wedding,  and  took  rooms  at  the  Hampton 
House.  Don  Miguel,  and  the  other  young 
men,  laughed  at  his  nervousness  and  his  im- 
patience at  the  lagging  steps  of  time.  The 
bride-elect  may  well  have  felt  flattered  at  this 
eager  count  of  the  lessening  days. 

One  evening — the  tenth  of  July — the  gay 
party  gathered  in  the  parlor  were  startled  by 
the  sudden  bursting  of  a  thunder-storm  over- 
head. It  was  an  awful  storm,  lasting  several 
hours,  and  when  it  had  subsided  somewhat  it 
did  not  entirely  give  over  raining,  so  that  the 
visitors  were  glad  to  accept  the  invitation  to 
remain  over  night.  Inez,  who  staid  with  Sophie 
more  than  half  the  time,  shared  the  room  of 
the  latter,  as  usual,  while  Lillian  accepted  Miss 
Miller's  rather  reluctant  offer  of  hers. 

As  soon  as  they  reached  the  chamber  Lillian  be- 
gan to  undress,  being  wearied  out  with  the  sultry 
day  ;  but  Miss  Miller  sat  by  the  open  window 
watching  the  tremulous  play  of  the  distant 
lightning,  and  listening  to  the  mournful  cry  of  a 
whip-poor-will,  which  pierced  the  darkness  with 
its  melancholy  complaint. 

' '  Are  you  not  coming  to  bed,  Miss  Miller?  You 
are  so  pale,  I  am  sure  you  must  be  fatigued." 

"  Yes,  I  am  tired,  Lily, — very,  very  tired, 
with  a  weariness  which  sleep  will  not  remove." 

She  spoke  so  languidly,  so  hopelessly,  that 
the  young  girl  turned  and  came  to  her  side, 
noticing  more  than  ever  before,  the  hard,  rigid 
lines  which  were  settling  upon  the  face  of  her 
best  friend — a  face  square  and  powerful  for  a 
woman's  at  its  best,  and  now  fixed  in  a  stern, 
sallow  harshness,  which  would  have  repelled 
any  one  but  her  companion. 

' '  Miss  Miller,  you  have  some  trouble,  which 
you  do  no^  tell  me." 

"Let  me  alone— let  me  alone  a  few  days. 
You  will  know  soon  enough." 

"  You  are  not  going  away?" — that  was  the 
worst  thing  Lily  could  think  of. 

"  No,  child — not  unless  you  send  me." 

' '  You  do  not  mean— it  can  not  be  that  you 
— have  learned — know — have  discovered  any- 
thing about  poor  papa  !"  exclaimed  Lily,  falling 
on  her  knees,  and  gazing  up  with  a  wild  look  at 
the  stony  face  before  her. 


"Nothing  new,  darling  Lily;  why  do  yoi 
question  me  ?   If  I  have  anything  to  toll,  yoi 
shall  know  it  in  due  time.    Go  to  bed  ; — yoi 
are  exciting  yourself  too  much.    I  will  come  ii 
a  few  moments,"  and  she  kissed  the  younj  ^ 
girl,  gently  pushing  her  away, — "not  that 
expect  much  rest  to-night.    I  shall  walk  in  mj 
sleep,  I  dare  say.    I  always  do  when  there  is 
thunder-storm, — and  I  always  feel  wearied  th( 
next  day,  as  if  1  had  kept  watch." 

"  I  waken  so  easily  ;  if  you  stir  I  shall  heai 
you,  and  then  I  will  not  let  you  leave  the 
room,"  said  Lillian,  and  creeping  into  bed,  she 
laid  with  wide-open  eyes  fixed  on  the  pah 
face  of  her  governess,  relieved  against  the  sta 
blackness  of  the  open  window.  She  meant  tc 
be  very  wakeful  and  to  take  excellent  care  ol 
the  somnambulist,  but,  presently,  the  drowsy 
lids  drew  together,  the  flush  of  sleep  warmed  held  i 
in  the  delicate  cheek,  she  just  turned  with  a 
soft  breath,  when  her  friend  laid  down  beside 
her  and  knew  no  more  for  hours. 

When  Lillian  awoke  the  hall  clock  was  strik- 
ing three.  She  reached  out  her  hand,  and  find- 
ing the  bed  vacant,  sprang  out  upon  the  floor. 
A  night  lamp  was  burning  dimly  ;  through  the 
casement  she  could  see  the  stars  breaking 
through  flying  and  ragged  clouds ;  the  door 
of  the  chamber  was  half-way  open.  Throwing  a 
dressing-gown  over  her  night-robe,  and  thrust 
ing  her  feet  into  slippers,  she  went  softly  but 
quickly  out  into  the  hall,  where  a  light  always 
was  kept  burning,  by  order  of  the  mistress  of 
the  house.  Finding  no  one  in  the  lower  hall 
she  ran  lightly  down  the  stairs,  and  proceeding  K 
towards  the  back  door,  she  almost  ran  against  I  ^ 
some  one  crouching  down  by  the  laboratory-  j 
door. 

"  Is  it  you,  Miss  Miller  V '  she  whispered,  not 
caring  to  awaken  the  household  by  speaking 
more  loudly. 

At  first  there  was  no  answer,  but,  upon  her 
pressing  more  closely,  the  figure  straightened 
itself  and  she  made  out  Inez. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  whispered  de- 
fiantly. 

' '  I  am  looking  for  Miss  Miller ;  she  has  gone 
out,  in  one  of  her  trances  again.  Have  you 
seen  her?" 

"No,"  replied  Inez,  evidently  relieved,  and 
coming  forward,  "but  I  heard  her  pass  my 
door,  and  slipped  out  to  look  for  her.  I  fancied 
she  might  have  gone  in  here,  but  all  is  dark 
and  still.  She  may  be  in  the  garden.  Do  not 
go  out  in  those  thin  slippers.  As  for  me,  I'm  go- 
ing back  to  bed.  If  she  will  walk  in  her  sleep, 
walk  she  must, — I  shall  not  run  the  risk  of  a 
cold." 

Darting  noiselessly  up  stairs,  Lillian  heard 


%- 

pae 

Sibr-r 

eei 

ate  ■ 

: 

x 

"Hi 

"j 
list, 

ha" 

As: 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


87 


aer  close  the  door  of  Sophie's  room;  she  tried 
the  outside  doors,  but,  as  they  all  were  fastened, 
lecided  that  the  somnambulist  could  not  have 
rone  out ;  so  she  passed  through  the  parlor  and 
ibrary,  and  on  up  to  her  room,  just  in  time  to 
see  the  one  of  whom  she  was  in  search  glide 
nto  it  in  advance  of  herself.  Lillian  followed 
md  closed  the  door. 

"Lily,  Lily,"  said  the  sleeper,  walking  up  to 
iie  bed  and  speaking  in  a  sharp  whisper, 
;<  Where  are  you  ?" 

"  Here  I  am.    I  have  been  looking  for  you." 

"  The  figure  eight!"  continued  the  somnambu- 
1st,  turning  and  coming  towards  her  with 
staring,  stony  eyes,  and  one  arm  extended.  "I 
lave  found  it,  Lily, — look  here  !" 

As  she  approached  the  other  saw  something 
rlitter  in  the  out-stretched  hand,  which,  as  she 
leld  it  up,  clutching  it  tightly,  Lillian  perceived 
;ras  a  handful  of  ingots. 

"See,  Lily,  see,  the  figure  eight!" 

Lillian  turned  very  faint  with  surprise,  ex- 
citement, and  the  terrible  thrill  which  ran 
;hrough  her  at  sight  of  the  stony  face,  and  the 
jager  hand  clutching  her  father's  gold. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?  Oh,  Miss  Miller, 
iwake,  awake,  and  tell  me  where  you  have 
seen  and  what  this  means  !" 

"I  followed  Mm"  said  the  governess,  still  in 
;he  same  hollow  whisper.  1 '  Him !  the 
vicked,  the  ungrateful.  Oh,  how  he  makes  my 
leart  ache." 

"Who?" 

' 1  You  know,  Lily  !  why  should  we  speak  his 
lame?"  That  is  my  secret, — that  is  what  is 
dlling  me  by  inches.  But  the  whole  world 
ivill  know  now.  No,  no  !  I  have  found  the  box 
low,  and  all  is  well.  All  is  well— well !  I 
leed  not  betray — need  not  disgrace.  I  have 
ooked  so  long  for  that  box  now,  Lillian,  that  you 
night  have  your  own,  and  yet  not  ruin  him. 
Take  them — feel  of  them,  then  you  will  be 
lure  ! ' ' 

Lillian,  with  a  nervous  shudder,  took  the 
lull,  slender,  heavy  bars  in  her  fingers,  looked 
it  them,  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 

"  Have  you  found  the  box  ?' '  she  asked,  begui- 
ling to  tremble  as  if  with  cold. 

"Yes.  I  followed  him.  I  stood  behind  him, 
md  he  did  not  see  me.  When  he  was  gone  I 
hook  a  few  to  show  you." 

"  Where  is  it?" 

"  Come,  we  will  go  there,  Tight  away,  before 
forget. ' ' 

She  opened  the  door  and  glided  out,  followed 
:>y  Lillian,  pale  as  the  shadow  of  a  phantom 
bllowing  the  phantom  which  led,  going  along 
;he  upper  hall  to  the  side  passage  which 
branched  to  the  east,  straight  to  the  door 


which  led  up  to  the  tower.  This  she  opened, 
and  was  about  to  place  her  foot  on  the  stairs, 
when  she  paused,  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead, 
and  murmured — "No,  it  was  down — was  it  up  ? 
— no,  down." 

Hesitating  a  moment,  she  began  to  ascend, 
but  in  climbing  the  steep  and  narrow  stair  she 
made  a  misstep  and  came  to  her  knees,  with  a 
shock  which  wakened  her. 

"Where  am  I?"  she  exclaimed,  looking 
wildly  about,  and  then  finding  herself  on  her 
knees  at  the  foot  of  the  tower  staircase,  and 
poor  Lillian  bending  over  her  with  a  distressed 
expression,  she  burst  out  laughing  and  went  off 
into  a  hysteric  fit. 

Though  much  frightened,  for  she  had  been 
told  that  the  shock  to  the  system  from  too 
sudden  awakening  was  dangerous,  Lillian  had 
presence  of  mind  to  coax  and  drag  her  into  the 
main  hall,  before  she  summoned  help  ;  then, 
calling  Mrs.  Chateaubriand's  maid,  who  was 
also  quite  a  nurse,  the  two  conveyed  Miss  Mil- 
ler back  to  her  bed,  where  the  maid  adminis- 
tered one  of  her  mistress's  favorite  nervines, 
while  Lillian  hastily  concealed  the  ingots  in  her 
bureau.  Nearly  all  the  household  were  awakened 
by  the  convulsive  laughter  of  the  somnambu- 
list, but  when  the  matter  was  explained  to  them 
they  retired  again — all  save  Arthur,  who 
dressed  himself,  or  was  already  dressed  when 
the  alarm  occurred,  and  who.  pale  and  restless, 
wished  to  watch  with  his  sister. 

But,  as  he  could  not  very  well  force  himself 
into  a  young  lady's  chamber,  and  as  the  nurse 
avowed  herself  equal  to  the  occasion,  he  was 
obliged  to  leave  the  patient  in  other  hands. 

In  the  course  of  two  or  three  hours  Miss 
Miller  grew  calm  and  fell  asleep  under  the  ef- 
fects of  the  anodynes  given ;  Lillian  then  dis- 
missed the  maid,  who  said  to  her — 

"Better  take  an  hour's  rest  yourself,  Mad- 
emoiselle. It's  a  long  time  yet  till  breakfast, 
though  it's  broad  daylight." 

She  did  lie  down  on  the  lounge,  but  the 
scene  of  the  night  had  been  too  exciting,  and 
she  could  only  act  it  over  and  over  in 
thought,  as  she  lay  there,  sleepless,  watching 
the  wan  face  on  the  pillow. 

' '  How  she  has  changed  in  a  year !  She  used  to 
be  so  handsome — and  so  strong.  She  worries 
far  more  about  that  miserable  money  than  I. 
I  wish  she  would  give  it  up — as  I  have !  But 
no,  she  has  found  it  at  last — there  is  the  proof ! 
Oh,  how  can  I  wait  for  her  to  waken  and  ex- 
plain ?  Now  I  shall  send  for  Cousin  Joe.  Yes, , 
if  he  will  not  come  to  me,  I  will  go  to  him  and' 
tell  him  the  truth.  My  poor,  brave,  faithful' 
governess !  She  told  me,  at  the  time  her  arm 
was  broken,  that  some  one  was  here  who  knew 


83 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


where  the  box  was,  but  who  dared  not  convey 
it  away,  but  that  she  had  not  yet  discovered 
who  this  person  was.  Now,  doubtless,  she  had 
seen  and  recognized  him.  This  wretched  mys- 
tery will  be  at  an  end." 

She  waited  impatiently,  but  the  patient 
slept  on  heavily,  and  the  watcher's  thoughts 
varied,  although  always  centering  about  the 
same  subject,  tears  dropping  as  the  image  of 
her  father  came  back  vividly,  and  a  blush  dry- 
ing them  on  her  cheeks  as  another  picture  arose, 
embodying  some  scene  in  the  future. 

When  the  rising-bell  rang  she  dressed  herself, 
seeing  that  Miss  Miller  was  not  disturbed  ;  she 
was  one  of  the  first  to  enter  the  breakfast  room, 
and  had  to  answer  the  inquiries  of  all.  Inez 
gave  her  a  singular  look  as  she  came  in  with 
her  fair  double,  but  asked  not  a  question,  nor 
referred  to  her  little  part  in  the  night's  perform- 
ance. Arthur  took  a  seat  by  Lillian,  making 
several  inquiries  about  his  sister.  She  really 
pitied  him,  he  was  so  anxious,  and  had  so  little 
appetite  for  his  breakfast ;  and  making  an  ef- 
fort to  show  her  friendliness,  she  evidently  suc- 
ceeded in  lightening  his  uneasiness,  so  that  he 
appeared  less  restrained  as  the  meal  progressed. 
Inez'  eyes  continued  to  flash  lightnings  across 
the  table  ;  Lillian  noticed  something  peculiar  in 
her  manner  ;  but,  as  the  Cuban  was  in  the 
habit  of  letting  her  feelings  be  known  without 
delay,  and  as  she  said  less  than  usual,  Lillian 
concluded  that  she  must  have  misread  her  ex- 
pression. 

"When  she  returned  to  her  room,  too  eager 
to  find  her  friend  awake  to  care  to  linger  with 
the  pleasure-seekers  below.  Miss  Miller  lay 
quietly  staring  at  the  wall. 

"  If  you  had  not  disturbed  me,  last  night," 
she  said,  listlessly,  "I  suppose  I  should  have 
got  along  well  enough.  It  is  the  sudden  shock 
which  affects  the  nerves." 

' '  I  did  not  waken  you.  It  was  your  stumb- 
ling which  did  it.  "Will  you  have  anything, 
dear  Miss  Miller?" 

"  A  cup  of  coffee,  as  strong  as  they  please  to 
make  it." 

Lily  rang  the  bell  and  made  her  request ;  the 
coffee  came,  with  a  slice  of  toast ;  was  drank, 
and  the  servant  sent  away  ;  then  the  patient 
appeared  disposed  to  sleep  again. 

Lillian  hesitated  whether  to  broach  the  subject, 
and,  ever  considerate  of  others,  finally  concluded 
to  keep  silence  until  the  other  spoke  of  her  own 
free  will. 

' '  If  you  feel  inclined  to  rest,  I  will  go  down. ' ' 
"  Go,  if  you  wish,  child  ;  I  do  feel  more  quiet 

than  I  have  in  days.    Doubtless  rest  is  what  I 

most  need." 
She  went  out  to  find  all  the  ladies  of  the  house 


gathered  in  Bertha's  room,  in  a  high  state  of 

excitement  over  the  arrival,  that  morning,  by 
express,  of  the  wedding  dress  and  bonnet.  The 
dress  was  of  white  moire-antique,  rich,  heavy 
and  lustrous  ;  the  bonnet  as  ' '  lovely  a  thing' '  as 
the  female  heart  could  desire.  All  were  lavish  in 
their  praises.  Nothing  would  do  but  Bertha 
must  try  on  the  robe,  which  she  did,  and  found 
the  fit  as  perfect  as  the  material.  Drawing  her 
fine  figure  to  its  full  height,  the  bride-elect 
looked  at  the  beautiful  image  reflected  in  the 
glass,  with  a  smile  half-proud,  half-tender.  She 
could  hardly  have  been  otherwise  than  satisfied, 
which  her  expression  confessed  her  to  be. 

""What  a  charming  bride  she  will  make," 
murmured  Lillian,  turning  to  Inez  for  sympa- 
thy in  her  admiration. 

The  Cuban  was  watching  Bertha  so  intently 
that  she  did  not  hear  the  remark.  Lillian  was 
surprised  at  the  expression  of  Inez'  countenance, 
whose  usually  rich  brunette  color  had  taken  on 
almost  a  greenish  tinge ;  her  eyes  had  grown 
small  and  dull, — the  lids  lay  across  them  in  a 
straight  line,  from  under  which  gleamed  a  single 
sparkle  of  light : — if  ever  malice  and  jealousy 
were  written  so  that  "  he  who  runs  may  read," 
they  were  written  there.  Lily,  poor  child,  could 
think  of  nothing  but  a  serpent  the  moment  be- 
fore it  strikes  ;  she  felt  terrified,  and  laid  her 
hand  on  Inez'  arm,  who  started,  turning  to  her 
with  an  unpleasant  laugh. 

'  'I  asked  you  if  you  did  not  consider  her  a  beau- 
tiful bride?"  repeated  Lily,  embarrassed,  she 
knew  not  why. 

"  Yes,  certainly — she  will  make  a  beautiful 
bride— if  she  ever  becomes  one  !  I  wish  Arthur 
could  see  her  now!"  and  she  turned  away, — 
and  went  to  the  window  to  avoid  the  subject  of 
Bertha's  perfections. 

"I  wish  Inez  was  not  so  illy-governed," 
mused  Lillian,  not  for  the  first  time.  "She 
keeps  herself  unhappy.  Why  did  she  say — 
' 4  If  she  ever  becomes  one ' '  ? 

Once  or  twice  in  the  course  of  the  morning  she 
stole  back  to  look  at  Miss  Miller,  who  had  fallen 
asleep  the  second  time,  and,  although  very  pale, 
was  enjoying  a  profound  and  refreshing  slum- 
ber. Her  interest  in  the  finale  of  the  sleep- 
walking story  was  so  keen  as  to  tempt  her  to 
rouse  the  sleeper,  but  she  restrained  herself  each 
time  and  went  away  ;  however,  being  too  agi- 
tated by  suspense  and  painful  memories,  to  en- 
joy any  society,  she  went  the  second  time,  down 
the  deserted  garden,  blooming  under  the  full 
warmth  of  high-noon,  in  search  of  a  shaded 
nook  in  the  old  arbor,  where  she  could  be  alone. 
She  had  been  seated  but  a  little  while  over  a 
book  which  she  held,  but  did  not  read,  when 
Arthur  Miller  came  sauntering  along,  and  en- 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


SO 


tered  the  arbor.  He  started  when  he  found  it  !  she  said.  It  is  but  a  few  days  now,  at  all  events, 
occupied,  removed  the  cigar  from  his  hps.  asked  till  the  great  affair  will  be  over  ;  then  I  shall 
permission  to  share  the  bench,  and  when  she  had  \  try  and  persuade  her  to  try  a  change  of  scene  for 

a  month.  "We  shall  not  open  our  school  until 
the  twentieth  of  September." 

"A  few  days,  I  know, — but  supposing  she 
should  break  her  neck  in  the  meantime?" 

Lillian  did  not  like  his  hard  tone,  nor  ill- 
concealed  impatience, — it  looked  far  more  to  her 
as  if  he  did  not  wish  to  be  annoyed  by  his  sis- 
ter's exploits,  than  like  any  deep  interest  in 
her  health.  So  she  remained  silent,  and  he 
sat  there  moodily,  until  the  lunch-bell  sum- 
moned them  to  the  house,  when  he  immedi- 
ately resumed  the  gay  manner  which  had  won 
him  his  way  in  society,  offered  her  his  arm, 
and  conducted  her  to  the  dining-room  as  airily 
as  if  the  weather  was  always  paradisical. 

His  sister  came  down  to  lunch  looking  better 
than  she  had  in  some  days,  was  congratulated 
on  her  recovery,  made  some  brilliant  sugges- 
tions regarding  the  ornamentation  of  the  rooms 
for  the  approaching  festivities,  and  made,  as 
she  always  did,  the  power  of  her  talent  felt, 
whatever  she  said  or  suggested. 

"  I  am  as  jealous  as  I  can  be  of  Lillian  Mere- 
certainly  have,  in  my  mind,"  I  dith,"  said  Bertha,  "  and  I  give  you  fair  warn- 


given  it,  throw  himself  down  with  a  weary  sigh. 

"Is  it  the  heat?"  asked  the  young  lady, 
with  a  smile. 

' '  I  believe  it  is,  in  part.  Life  is  very  unsatis- 
factory, taken  as  a  whole.  It  is  too  warm, 
or  too  cold  ;  too  bright,  or  too  dull ;  too  wet, 
or  toe  dry,  and  as  the  weather  is,  so  is  every- 
thing else.  Poor  human-nature  is  ennuied  to 
death  half  the  time." 

"I  hardly  expected  such  a  view  of  life  from 
ycrar  hps,  just  at  present.  Mr.  Miller." 

"Oh.  I'm  not  without  my  due  share  of 
troubles.  I  assure  you.  I  am  marrying  a  woman 
richer  than  niyself, — and  that's  not  the  most 
charming  arrangement  for  a  man  of  any  spunk. ' ' 

1 '  Then  why  do  you  do  it  ?' '  his  listener  was 
about  to  ask,  but  checked  herself,  betraying  her 
surprise  by  her  expression. 

"People  won't  give  me  credit  for  any 
real  love  in  the  matter,  you  see.  If  Miss 
Chateaubriand  were  twice  as  beautiful  and  twice 
as  lovable,  I  should  have  the  credit  of  marrying 
her  for  her  money." 

"Which  you 
thought  Lillian,  sa 


nothing. 


I  ing,  that  when  I  get  to  keeping  house,  I  shall 
And  then,  there  is  Annie.    She's  not  the  j  quarrel  with  you  for  the  possession  of  your 


woman  sue  used  to  be,  Miss  Meredith.  And 
these  somnambulic  tricks  of  hers  worry  me  more 
than  I  am  willing  to  confess  to  any  one.  I 
heartily  wish  she  had  not  come  to  Meredith 
Place  before  the  wedding.  It  would  have  been 
better  for  her  at  your  quiet  cottage.  She  adds 
to  the  excitement  inseparable  from  the  'coming 
event,'  and  which  reacts  upon  her  in  a  very 
unpleasant  way.  I  wish  you  would  persuade 
her  to  go  home  with  you  this  afternoon." 

"  She  is  staying  at  Mrs.  Chateaubriand's  par- 
ticular request,  whom  it  will  disappoint  if  she 
leaves  at  this  hurried  time.    Still,  if  you  think  ' 
her  health  demands  it.  I  will  propose  it  to 
them." 

"  I  do  wish  you  would,  Miss  Meredith.    You  i 
can't  imagine  how  she  worries  me;"  then,  as 
Lillian  looked  up,  at  the  pettish,  ill-humored  j 
tone,  adding,  ' 1 1  am  so  afraid  that  she  will 
come  to  serious    harm.     She  might  have 
killed  herself,  last  night.     I  am  getting  so  j 
nervous,  at  night,  I  start  at  every  sound,  imag-  I 
/niug  Annie  has  stepped  out  of  a  second-story  j 
window,  or  fallen  off  the  roof, ' '  and  he  forced  a 
laugh. 

Iillian  had  remarked  this  very  nervousness, 
a»d  sleepless  look  in  him,  and  now  attributed  it 
V>  the  cause  he  gave. 

"  I  will  propose  to  her  to  go  home  with  me, 
V  she  feels  as  if  she  should  rest  better  there," 


treasure.  I  should  never  have  ventured  to 
promise  to  marry  if  I  had  not  supposed  you 
could  be  coaxed  to  live  with  us,  Miss  Miller." 

' :  Perhaps  I  can,  in  due  time — that  is,  if  you 
and  Arthur  do  not  quarrel.  I  could  never 
exist  under  the  same  roof  with  a  matrimonial 
couple  who  brought  their  differences  to  me  to 
settle." 

"  If  he  is  good,  and  mild,  and  always  lets  me 
have  my  own  way,  I  shall  not  quarrel  with 
him,"  said  Bertha. 

Lillian  listened  to  the  badinage  without 
hearing  it ;  she  was  waiting  for  the  hour  of  the 
afternoon  siesta,  when  she  should  have  her  op- 
portunity of  speaking  to  Miss  Miller  alone. 

It  came  at  last,  when  the  two  again  were  in 
their  chamber. 

"  You  were  broken  of  your  rest  so  much  last 
night,  Lily,  you  ought  to  take  a  long  sleep 
this  afternoon. ' ' 

"I  am  going  back  home,  you  know,  before 
dinner.  I  shall  start  as  soon  as  the  sun  is  a 
little  lower.  But  0,  Miss  Miller,  how  can  you 
think  I  can  sleep  until  you  have  told  me  all  ?' ' 

' '  Told  you  cdl  T ' 

1 '  Yes, — where  the  box  is — where  you  got  the 
gold." 

"  Where  I  got- the  goldf 

1 '  And  who  it  was  that  was  taking  it !  Now 


90 


THE  EIGUKE  EIGHT. 


that  you  know  all,  surely,  this  fearful  mystery 
must  come  to  the  light. 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  my  child?" 

Each  looked  at  the  other  in  doubt  and  sur- 
prise. 

"Miss  Miller,  when  you  came  back  to  this 
room,  last  night,  your  hand  was  full  of  bars  of 
gold,  precisely  like  those  my  father  once 
showed  me.  You  called  me  and  told  me  you 
knew  the  meaning  of  the  figure  eight ! — that 
you  had  found  the  box,  and  brought  those 
ingots  in  proof." 

"  Lily,  I  remember  no  more  of  it  than  as  if 
it  had  never  been. ' ' 

"Then  you  can  not  lead  me  to  the  box!" 
cried  Lillian,  dismayed,  overwhelmed  with  dis- 
appointment. 

"lean  not,  I  remember  nothing.  Tell  me 
all  I  said,  please,  my  darling  child,  this 
moment. ' ' 

Lillian  recounted  what  had  passed. 

"Did  I  not  mention  the  name  of  the  person 
whom  I  followed  V '  eagerly. 

"No,  not  once." 

"Let  me  look  at  the  ingots,  Lily." 

Lillian  went  to  her  bureau,  lifted  the  laces 
she  had  hastily  thrown  over  the  gold,  but  the 
ingots  were  not  where  she  had  hidden  them ! 

"  Some  one  has  been  here,  and  taken  them," 
she  cried,  as  she  hastily  examined  the  drawer, 
taking  out  every  article. 

Then  she  went  to  the  next,  although  positive 
she  had  placed  them  in  the  upper  drawer  ;  so 
on,  through  the  bureau,  and  every  nook  and 
corner,  possible  and  impossible,  as  persons  will, 
when  they  have  lost  things,  in  the  vain  hope 
that  memory  is  at  fault,  and  that  they  will 
"turn  up"  somewhere.  But  the  ingots  had 
disappeared  utterly, — strangely  as  they  had 
come,  they  had  vanished  still  more  strangely, 
and  the  two  women  could  only  look  at  each 
other  with  vague  speculation  in  their  faces. 

CHAPTER  XX. 
"checkmate  to  tour  king." 

"Perhaps  you  dreamed  the  whole  matter," 
suggested  Miss  Miller,  as  she  and  Lily  stood  at 
the  window  of  the  tower,  looking  over  the 
broad  landscape  despondently. 

They  had  taken  advantage  of  the  quiet  pre- 
siding over  the  house  at  the  hour  of  the  after- 
noon siesta,  to  ascend  to  the  tower-room  and 
search  for  anything  which  might  prove  a  clue 
to  what  had  happened  the  previous  night.  A 
more  innocent  looking  place  never  was  subjected 
to  such  close  scrutiny.  The  plain,  small, 
square  room  had  no  nook  where  a  thimble 
could  be  hidden — at  least,  none  such  appeared 
to  the  eye.    They  raised  the  carpet,  which 


Sophie  had  caused  to  be  spread,  looking  for 
some  trap-door,  or  board  which  had  been  cut 
to  lift  from  some  cavity  between  the  floors ; 
but  nothing  rewarded  the  examination.  There 
were  windows  on  three  sides, — on  the  fourth 
hung  the  map  of  which  we  have  spoken, 
against  a  plain,  bare  wall  of  common  plaster 
laid  directly  upon  the  squared  stones  of  which 
the  tower  was  built. 

4 4  You  said,  just  before  you  awoke,  that  you 
were  not  certain  whether  it  was  up  or  down 
you  ought  to  go. " 

"  In  the  cellar,  I  suppose,  under  the  coal," — 
the  governess  spoke  lightly,  to  cover  her  cha- 
grin. 

"  Oh,  what  if  you  had  come  here  alone,  and 
fallen  from  this  open  window!"  said  Lillian, 
with  a  shudder,  looking  down  at  the  green  grass 
and  graveled  paths  below. 

"  I  tell  you,  solemnly,  that  if  I  had,  and  had 
been  dashed  to  death  in  an  instant,  I  could  ask 
for  no  happier  fate. ' ' 

"Why,  my  dear,  dear  Miss  Miller,  don't 
speak  in  that  manner  !  I  thought  I  was  very 
sad,  and  that  I  could  never  be  happy  again, 
when  my  dear  father — when,  you  know, — how 
terrible  it  was  ! — and  I  am  very  wretched  still, 
at  times, — and  have  a  great  weight  on  my 
mind  about — about  poor  cousin  Joe.  But,  I 
can  not  say  that  I  covet  a  death  like  that, — ah, 
no !  you  make  me  tremble  when  you  speak  and 
look  so." 

"The  young  can  bear  anything,"  said  the 
governess,  drearily  ;  ' '  like  the  springing  grass, 
they  bend  to  rise  again ;  but  when  it  is  ripe 
and  brittle,  once  crushed,  it  rises  no  more." 

4 4 1  know,  dear  friend,  you  loved  poor  papa, 
and  you  will  never,  never  get  over  his  dreadful 
death.  Why  should  Fate  ordain  that  he  should 
meet  that  foolish,  willful  girl,  who  had  not  the 
heart,  nor  the  sense  to  love  him  as  he  deserved  ? 
If  he  had  come  home  unmarried,  all  would 
have  been  so  different !  The  other  thing  might 
not  have  happened — and  he  would  have  been 
certain  to — to — " 

"The  other  thing  might  not  have  happened — 
would  not  have  happened, ' '  said  the  governess, 
slowly  ;  you  are  right,  there,  Lillian." 

The  subject,  usually  so  carefully  avoided, 
was  too  much  for  the  self-possession  of  the  or- 
phaned girl,  who  clung  to  her  friend's  waist, 
and  wept  softly  such  tears  as  do  good  to  those 
who  shed  them;  but,  the  single  icy  drop  on  the 
lids  of  the  older  woman  were  of  those  which, 
pressed  from  the  heart,  leave  it  dry. 

44 1  must  go  home,"  said  Lillian,  when  they 
had  stood  some  time,—"  will  you  return  with 
me,  as  Arthur  wishes?" 

44 1  think  not,— at  least,  not  to-night.  I 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


01 


have  promised  Mrs.  Chateaubriand  ;  and  I  may 
not  have  another  of  these  attacks  in  some  time. 
Arthur  is  too  easily  fretted  about  his  dear  sister. ' ' 

"Was  she  speaking  in  sarcasm  ?  Her  compan- 
ion looked  up,  but  could  not  tell ;  she  was  half 
afraid  of  her  governess,  at  times,  such  a  change 
had  lately  come  over  her. 

"Well,  I  must  call  Inez,  as  I  go  down. 
She  ought  to  go  home  with  me.  She  is  here 
too  much,  I  think, — seeing  we  are  not  placed 
so  as  to  return  these  hospitalities." 

"Oh,  she  does  not  regard  herself  from  that 
standpoint  any  longer.  She  is  Don  Miguel's 
cousin,  and  if  Sophie  should  be  successful  in 
her  butterfly-hunting,  they  will  be  relatives." 

"  The  Don  is  not  a  butterfly,  Miss  Miller." 

"Truly,  I  believe  he  is  something  a  trifle 
better.  I  dwelt  on  his  perfections,  while 
there  was  any  hope  of  your  appreciating  him. 
But  I  hardly  think  you  will  take  Inez  home 
with  you.  There  she  goes  across  the  fields, 
in  the  direction  of  Gram' me  Hooker's." 

"Alone,  too." 

"  She  is  so  benevolent  that  she  is  going  to  do 
the  old  woman  a  service,  and  her  modesty  pre- 
vents her  bringing  along  her  left  hand  to  know 
what  her  right  hand  does." 

"  I  do  wonder  what  errand  takes  her  there  so 
frequently." 

' '  Are  you  sure  Mrs.  Hooker  is  a  conscientious 
woman  ?" 

"  Quite  ;  but  why  do  you  ask?" 

"Don't  puzzle  your  poor  little  tired  brain 
about  that,  child.  Come,  we  will  go  down,  and 
I  will  walk  with  you  a  little  on  your  way  home. 
I  need  the  air  to  get  rid  of  those  indolent  ano- 
dynes." 

The  two  walked  along  the  quiet  road,  sweet 
from  last  night's  rain,   across  which  long 

!  shadows  were  beginning  to  stretch.  As  they 
slowly  sauntered  towards  the  village,  one  of 

j  Mr.   Chateaubriand's  buggies    passed  them, 

j  with  Arthur  Miller  and  his  carpet-bag  m  the 

I  back  seat. 

"I'm  going  to  the  five  o'clock  express,"  he 
i  said,  as  the  driver  paused  a  moment  at  his  bid- 
i  ding.    "  Will  be  back  to-morrow  at  the  same 

hour.    Better  stay  with  Miss  Meredith  to-night, 

Annie." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  to  go  down  again 
before  the  twentieth." 

"  Oh,  yes.    I've  not  selected  my  wedding- 
present  yet  for  the  bride.    That  is  a  very  im- 
portant matter.    I  shall  give  to-morrow  to  its 
j  selection.    Shall  it  be  a  diamond  bracelet,  An- 
Inie  ?" 

"Better  suit  you  gifts  to  your  means,"  she 
said,  coldly. 

1 1  Precisely.    I  made  a  thousand  dollars  by  a 


lucky  stroke,  the  week  before  I  came  out. 
Would  that  be  too  much  to  expend  on  an  ar- 
ticle of  so  much  importance?" 

"I  advise  you  to  be  prudent,"  was  the  re- 
sponse, and  Arthur,  laughing  and  brilliant, 
drove  on,  the  envied  of  all  who  saw  him. 

"  It  feels  to  me  as  if  there  was  a  storm  in  the 
air,"  remarked  Miss  Miller,  stopping  in  her 
walk,  a  little  later,  and  looking  about  her  with 
a  wandering  glance. 

"We  had  the  storm  last  night.  The  air, 
now,  is  like  crystal,  and  the  sky  a  cloudless 
blue. ' ' 

"  But  I  feel  it,  I  tell  you.  Since  my  health 
is  in  this  peculiar  state  I  am  a  perfect  barometer. 
My  spirits  have  fallen  a  good  many  degrees  in 
so  many  minutes.  Something  is  going  to  hap- 
pen. Perhaps  there  will  be  an  accident  on  the 
railroad  to-night. ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  often  feel  that  way, — and  nothing 
ever  comes  of  it.  Don't  go  any  farther  with 
me,  or  you'll  lose  your  dinner." 

The  friends  parted.  Miss  Miller  returned  to 
Meredith  Place,  ate  her  dinner  in  the  most 
hum-drum  fashion  ;  spent  the  evening  in  giving 
countenance  to  folly,  as  usual  ;  retired  to  her 
room,  and  slept  a  dreamless  sleep,  from  which 
she  did  not  arise  to  midnight  excursions, 
The  next  day  her  brother  returned  from  the 
city,  and  was  welcomed  with  delight  by  the  af- 
fectionate and  anxious  darlings  who  knew  what 
his  errand  had  been.  No  storm  had  broken 
the  serenity  of  the  summer  sky,  and  no  rail 
had  broken  on  the  road  to  startle  the  world 
with  an  accident.  Something  had  happened, 
nevertheless,  during  that  brief  trip,  of  great  im- 
port to  the  most  of  that  joyous  company. 
They  did  not  perceive  it  now,  however, — least 
of  all  was  it  suspected  by  him  whom  it  most 
concerned. 

That  evening,  when  the  bride-elect  came  to 
dinner  she  found  a  parcel  under  her  napkin  ; 
she  untied  the  little  box,  and  brought  to  light 
a  bracelet  of  diamonds  and  emeralds  fit  for  a 
princess'  acceptance. 

"Allow  me,"  said  Arthur,  clasping  it  about 
the  snowy  wrist,  and,  as  the  lady  pursued  her 
dinner,  the  light  of  the  jewels  flashed  little 
rainbows  about  her  plate. 

' '  I  declare,  Inez,  your  eyes  are  as  green  as 
these  emeralds,"  exclaimed  Bertha,  as,  tri- 
fling with  her  dessert,  she  chanced  to  look  up 
at  Mrs.  Meredith,  sitting  opposite. 

"I  supposed  they  were,  black,"  answered 
Inez,  dropping  them.  "You  are  blinded  by 
what  you  have  been  looking  at.  No  one,  I  dare 
say,  would  give  as  much  for  my  eyes  as  for  your 
emeralds." 

"A  mistake,  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Meredith," 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


simpered  a  youth,  who,  being  selected  to  attend 
the  third  bridesmaid,  had  nothing  to  do  in  the 
meantime  but  to  pay  her  compliments.  ' 1  Tif- 
fany has  nothing  at  all  to  be  compared  with 
those  starry  orbs — " 

''Hear,  hear,"  cried  Don  Miguel;  "starry 
orbs  !  fine  !  Where  did  you  find  that  rare  and 
original  comparison  ? ' ' 

"  In  my  head,"  responded  the  youth,  putting 
a  spoonful  of  ice-cream  in  his  mouth. 

"  What  a  pity  we  are  not  all  engaged,"  re- 
marked Sophie,  pouting  at  Arthur,  but  not 
without  a  swift  glance  at  Don  Miguel. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  the  bridal  presents  and  the 
new  dresses  that  induce  half  of  you  to  place 
yourselves  in  that  enviable  position,"  said  the 
Don. 

"Of  course.  The  little  god  would  kneel  in 
vain,  if  he  did  not  come  with  his  hands  full  of 
jewels  and  '  promises  to  pay.'  If  he  could  not 
order  a  bouquet,  select  an  ornament,  and  had  no 
ear  for  opera  music,  he  ought  to  be  banished  to 
the  days  of  Phillis  and  Corydon. ' ' 

' '  It  is  better  to  have  a  cousin  than  to  be  en- 
gaged," said  Inez,  and,  letting  the  white  muslin 
of  her  flowing  sleeve  fal|  back  from  her  brown, 
but  smooth  and  exquisitely  shaped  arm, 
she  betrayed  a  bracelet  much  finer  than  Ber- 
tha's— a  costly  gift — which  Don  Miguel  had 
brought  with  him,  when  he  made  his  last  declar- 
ation to  Lillian,  as  a  betrothal  bond,  if  she 
should  accept  him.  He  was  thinking,  now, 
that  one  woman,  at  least,  had  withstood  the 
temptations  of  wealth  and  ease,  and  her  image 
arose  before  him  all  the  more  attractively,  in 
contrast  with  these  gay  creatures  who  were  telling 
the  truth  about  themselves,  with  the  prettiest 
air  of  being  only  in  sport. 

"Oh,  Inez,"  cried  Sophie,  "you  never 
showed  us  that  before  !  You  little  darling,  how 
becoming  it  is  to  your  arm  !  I  always  told  you 
your  hand  and  arm  were  perfect." 

The  Don  had  been  watching  her  to  mark  the 
impression  made  by  the  ornament ;  if  she  had 
shown  envy  or  malice,  he  would  have  turned 
lightly  from  Sophie,  as  he  had  from  so  many 
other  young  ladies,  but,  her  evident  freedom 
from  covetousness,  her  good  nature  in  admir- 
ing Inez,  and  pleasure  in  the  latter' s  possession  of 
the  jewel,  raised  her  many  degrees  in  his  re- 
spect. She  was  not  Lillian ;  she  was  not  his  ideal ; 
but,  she  was  an  amiable  as  well  as  a  pretty  girl, 
and  he  gave  her  a  glance  that  had  a  thought  in 
it,  as  he  said  : 

"  Inez  must  not  claim  the  bracelet  forever.  I 
told  her  it  was  only  lent  to  her.  I  intend  to 
imitate  Mr.  Miller  in  my  final  use  of  it." 

' '  I  may  wear  it  until  I  get  tired  of  it,  before 


you  claim  it,"  responded  his  cousin,  while 
Sophie  felt  a  glow  in  her  heart  and  a  blush  on 
her  cheek,  she  hardly  knew  why. 

Miss  Miller  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and 
looked  at  Inez.  She  was  thinking  of  the  time 
when  a  certain  handsome,  ambitious,  passionate 
woman,  with  an  intellect  kindled  by  commu- 
nion with  that  of  a  man  of  genius,  and  a  heart 
alive  with  the  best  love  which  such  a 
man  can  draw  forth,  decked  herself  in  vel- 
vet and  jewels  to  welcome  him  home, — it 
hardly  seemed  to  her  as  if  that  eager 
woman,  with  the  flushed  cheek  and  spark- 
ling eye,  was  this  self  which  sat  here  now,  sal- 
low, stony,  and  indifferent.  She  recalled  the 
moment  when  the  slender,  dark-eyed  Cuban 
girl  had  emerged  from  the  stage  and  she  heard 
Doctor  Meredith  introduce  her  as  his  wife.  Oh, 
but  she  had  reason  to  hate  even  more  than  she 
despised  !  Yet,  as  she  sat  and  watched  her,  at 
the  table,  darting  those  looks  at  the  bride-elect, 
which  Bertha  had  declared  were  "green,"  a  cold 
fear  of  her  crept  through  her  contempt.  It  grew 
upon  her  that  Inez  held  some  secret  power  to 
injure,  over  which  she  exulted. 

Lillian  had  not,  in  describing  the  events  of 
the  night  when  she  stayed  with  her,  mentioned 
having  found  Inez  in  the  lower  hall,  for  the  in- 
cident had  been  of  so  little  importance  to  her 
as  to  pass  out  of  her  mind.  Had  she  mentioned 
it  to  Miss  Miller,  the  latter  would  have  had 
some  clue  to  the  power  held  by  the  woman  with 
whom  her  brother  had  trifled. 

"  She  is  plotting  mischief , "  thought  the  gov- 
erness. 4 '  Can  it  be  possible  that  she  knows 
what  I  know  ?  There  is  not  reticence  enough 
in  her  to  keep  it  one  hour,  should  she  have  dis- 
covered it.  It  is  more  probable  that  she  will 
stab  him  with  the  little  poignard  which  I  saw 
her  raise  on  him  once,  than  attempt  a  more 
complicated  revenge.  I  can  not  stay  here.  I 
shall  suffocate  in  the  midst  of  these  trifiers.  I 
believe  I  will  go  and  see  Mother  Hooker." 

Stealing  from  the  dining-room  without  at- 
tracting particular  attention,  she  threw  a 
vail  over  her  head  and  wandered  off,  in  the 
growing  twilight,  through  the  garden,  on  into 
the  field  path  which  led  through  the  woods  to 
gram' me' s.  Her  head  was  hot ;  the  cool  air 
felt  grateful  to  her  burning  face  ;  she  walked 
rapidly  on  into  the  dim  woods,  where  she  could 
hardly  track  her  way  through  the  murmurous 
shadows.  The  secret  she  carried,  which  pressed 
ever  heavier  into  her  heart,  was  almost  unbear- 
able this  evening.  Those  gay  and  thoughtless 
friends  whom  she  had  left  behind  were  to  her 
like  children  playing  on  the  brink  of  a  preci- 
pice ;  and,  as  the  awful  danger  arose  vividly 
before  her  imagination,  she  shrieked  aloud.  A 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


03 


thousand  piercing  echoes  answered  her,  and  she 
screamed  again,  shrilly  and  long. 

"It  is  a  relief, — I  am  afraid  of  insanity,  some 
days,"  she  muttered.  "  Who  would  think  me 
deficient  in  courage  ?  They  call  me  strong- 
minded,  a  natural  leader, — yet,  here  I  shrink 
like  the  veriest  coward.  If  I  had  confronted 
the  danger  at  first,  seized  it  by  the  throat, 
choked,  silenced  it,  I  should  not  now  be  over- 
mastered. Every  day  I  concede  and  concede, 
while  the  wrong  grows.  Oh,  Arthur  !  oh,  Lil- 
lian !  I  am  afraid  now  that  a  hand  less  kind 
and  more  just  than  mine  has  taken  the  rein  and 
is  driving  me  on  to  ruin  ! ' ' 

She  sat  a  little  while  on  a  log  beside  the  path, 
listening  to  the  last  twittering  notes  of  sleepy 
birds,  the  mournful  cry  of  the  whippoorwill 
which  had  answered  her  wild  scream,  and  the 
rustle  of  the  tall  trees  moving  lightly  in  the 
western  wind;  then  resumed  her  walk,  urged 
by  the  fear  that  gram'me  would  be  in  bedif  she 
delayed  her  call  any  later. 

Gram'me  was  studying  out  her  evening  chap- 
ter of  the  Xew  Testament  by  the  light  of  a  tal- 
low dip,  when  Miss  Miller  surprised  her  by  ap- 
pearing in  the  open  door. 

'' 1  Is  it  too  late  for  callers  ?  It  was  so  warm 
in  the  house  I  wanted  to  get  out  of  it;  and  as  I 
strolled  this  way  I  made  up  my  mind  I  would 
come  and  ask  you  a  question  which  I  have 
wanted  answered  for  some  time.'' 

"Take  a  chair,  Miss  Miller.  I'm  glad  to 
see  you,  but  I  reckon  you'd  better  be  keerful 
about  trampin'  about  alone  arter  dark.  I'm 
nigh  about  sartin  I  heerd  a  painter  screech  in 
them  woods  just  a  leetle  while  ago, — though 
they  do  say  there's  been  none  seen  in  these 
parts  for  twenty  year." 

"Thank  you;  I'll  sit  on  the  door-step, 
gram'me.  I  dare  say  it  was  a  screech-owl 
which  disturbed  you.  There  are  no  panthers 
in  Meredith  wood— unless  they  be  human  pan- 
thers," sotto  voce. 

"Them  screech-owls  do  make  a  drefiul  noise; 
they  sound  awful  lonesome  in  the  woods  at 
night.  It  may  be.  It  may  be.  But  you  ain't 
so  timid  as  most  women-folks,  Miss  Miller. 
'Pears  to  me  you  don't  look  well  lately  ;  better 
let  me  fix  you  up  some  herb-tea  or  bitters, 
hadn't  ye?" 

"You  can't  medicine  to  a  mind  diseased, 
gram'me,"  replied  the  lady,  sadly. 

"  Xay,  that's  so.  What  is  it  you  want  me  to 
tell  you  that  you  don't  know  better' n  I,  Miss 
Miller?" 

' 4  The  object  of  Mrs.  Meredith's  visits  to  you. ' ' 
"Oho  !    Well,  sartain,  they're  skasely  wuth 
inquirin'  into,"  and  gram'me  laughed. 

"It's  nothing  very  bad,  if  you  laugh  about  it. ' ' 


"That's  so,  child;  you're  right.  She'll  never 
do  any  harm,  that  little  simpleton  won't — she's 
too  foolish.  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  tell  on 
her,  though,  as  she's  come  to  me  in  confidence." 

1 '  If  you  think  it  will  do  no  harm,  and  that 
you  are  justified  in  keeping  it,  I  shall  ask  no 
more." 

"0  land  !  I  reckon  it  makes  no  difference, 
one  way  or  t'other.  She  jest  comes  to  git  me 
to  make  love-powders  for  your  brother,  and  I 
humor  her,  to  keep  her  from  going  to  the  'poth- 
ecary's,  or  somewhere,  where  she'll  make  her- 
self ridiculous." 

"I  surmised  as  much,  gram'me,  and  I'm 
obliged  to  you  for  being  so  discreet  with  her. 
She  has  her  foreign  ways,  and  we  must  humor 
them,  I  suppose.  Her  cousin  will  soon  take 
her  off  with  him,  which  will  be  a  relief  to  us. 
Did  she  ever  ask  you  for  anything  really  dan- 
gerous ?" 

Mother  Hooker  hesitated;  her  eyes  fell  before 
the  keen  glance  fixed  upon  her,  but  she  raised 
them  again  as  she  said: 

"If  she  had,  you  might  know  she  wouldn't 
git  it  here, — nor  I  wouldn't  tell  of  her,  neither, 
but  jest  lectur'  her  on  her  sin  an'  danger.  She's 
most  like  the  heathen,  that  poor  child  is,  and 
I  tell  you  I've  preached  to  her poicerful." 

Miss  Miller  was  just  as  well  satisfied  with  this 
answer  as  if  it  had  been  more  explicit.  After  a 
little  more  chat  on  the  old  woman's  wants  and 
ailments,  she  bade  her  good-night,  and  returned 
upon  her  lonesome  route.  The  faint  glimmer 
of  a  moon  in  its  first  quarter  straggled  through 
the  wood,  making  weird  shadows  across  the 
path,  but  marking  it  so  that  she  had  small  dif- 
ficulty in  finding  her  way  back.  She  was  no 
coward,  as  far  as  being  out  alone  was  concerned, 
and  crossed  the  field  as  carelessly  as  if  it  had 
been  broad  daylight.  Entering  by  that  back  gate, 
|  through  which  so  many  of  my  adventures  had 
been  made  the  previous  summer,  she  strolled 
on  to  the  arbor,  and  still  feeling  dislike  to  the 
prospect  of  company,  she  turned  aside  and  en- 
tered. As  she  did  so  she  was  startled,  almost 
into  an  exclamation;  but  her  long  habit  of  self- 
control  stood  her  in  good  stead,  and  she  said 
nothing.  The  low  beams  of  the  sinking  moon 
shone  almost  horizontally  into  the  arbor  against 
the  face  of  a  man  sitting  there  as  if  waiting  for 
somebody.  The  lady  could  see  him  with  suffi- 
cient clearness  to  know  that  he  was  a  stranger. 
Before  she  could  decide  whether  to  turn  away 
or  to  accost  him,  he  arose,  saying — 

"I  guess  it's  all  right,  ma'am.  We're  on 
the  right  track  now,  certainly.  I  followed  him 
all  day  yesterday,  as  you  advised,  and  I  found 
out  what  you  said  I  would." 

"  Found  out  what?"  Miss  Miller's  lips  trem- 


94 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


bled,  but  she  steadied  her  voice  and  tried  to 
disguise  it;  the  other,  however,  immediately 
detected  his  mistake. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  he;  "I  mis- 
ook  you  for  the  housekeeper.  There's  a  fellow 
been  stealing  the  berries  and  vegetables,  and 
she  set  me  on  to  watching  him." 

With  that  he  passed  by  her,  and  went  whis- 
tling on  over  the  lawn,  to  the  front  gate,  and 
out  upon  the  road.  Miss  Miller  would  have  ta- 
ken his  story  for  granted,  but  as  she  went  up 
the  rear  steps  to  the  porch,  she  met  Inez  com- 
ing down,  and  knowing  how  superstitious  and 
timid  she  was,  wondered  at  her  going  out 
alone. 

"  Would  you  like  company  ?"  asked  the  gov- 
erness. 

"Oh  no,  thank  you.  I'm  only  going  for  a 
rose-bud  for  my  hair.  Mr.  Beckwith  has  stolen 
the  one  I  was  wearing,"  and  she  hurried  on  to- 
wards the  rose-bushes  beyond  which  stood  the 
arbor. 

Miss  Miller  then  decided  to  go  to  the  house- 
keeper with  an  account  of  the  stranger  in  the 
garden. 

"He's  a  thief  himself,  you  may  be  sure," 
said  that  personage,  when  she  had  told  her  story. 
' '  I  never  authorized  nobody  to  watch  for  thieves. 
It's  like  he's  after  the  fruit  himself ;  or  worse — 
mebbe  he's  a  burglar,  a  studyin'  of  the  sitiwa- 
tion.  I' m  goin'  to  send  Mick  out  to  hunt  him 
off  the  place,  or  I  shan't  close  an  eye  this  night. 
Like  as  not  he's  from  the  city,  or  he's  come  as 
a  body-guard  over  that  silver  which  mistress 
was  so  foolish  as  to  send  for.  I  told  her  it 
wouldn't  be  safe  in  this  country  place,  where 
there  isn't  a  p'liceman  to  save  your  life." 

"Don't  worry  too  much;  he  will  not  be  apt 
to  come  back  to-night,  especially  if  he  sees 
Mick  hunting  him  out  with  a  lantern.  He  will 
naturally  suppose  that  we  are  on  our  guard.  I 
think,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  would  not  dis- 
turb the  family  with  it;  there  is  probably  not 
much  in  it,  and  if  Mick  goes  out  and  looks 
about  the  place,  and  you  fasten  up  carefully,  it 
will  be  all  that  is  necessary." 

"All  right,"  assented  the  housekeeper,  but 
with  the  lady  who  gave  the  advice  it  was  not 
all  right. 

When  she  entered  the  parlors  Inez  was  there 
flirting  with  Mr.  Beckwith,  who  was  to  be  one 
of  the  groomsmen;  Arthur  and  Bertha  were  at 
the  piano,  Sophie  and  Don  Miguel  walking  up 
and  down,  the  room,  arm-in-arm,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Chateaubriand  playing  chess;— the  terrors  which 
beset  her,  and  which  gave  her  the  haunted, 
nervous,  expectant  look,  becoming  habitual  to 
her,  did  not  come  with  her  in  full  force  into 
this  cheerful  company.    Yet  she  knew  they 


were  there,  like  wolves  at  the  door,  ready  to 
spring  upon  her  the  moment  she  went  forth, 
and  she  was  almost  surprised  that  every  one 
was  not  as  aware  of  their  ugly  existence  as  she 
was.  She  gazed  at  the  festal  groups  about  her 
as  one  does  at  a  fairy  spectacle  which  he  knows 
will  soon  dissolve. 

"  Oh  you  are  here,  are  you  ?"  said  the  master 
of  the  house,  looking  up  as  she  sighed.  "I've 
been  wanting  you  to  play  a  game  with  me.  You 
understand  chess  much  better  than  Mrs.  Cha- 
teaubriand. ' ' 

1 '  Yes,  please  do  take  my  place,  Miss  Miller. 
The  idea  of  playing  chess  with  the  thermome- 
ter at  ninety  !" — the  lady  arose  from  the  table, 
and  dropped  languidly  into  an  arm-chair. 

"One  game,  then,  Mr.  Chateaubriand,"  said 
Miss  Miller,  "and  let  it  decide  my  fate  !" 

"In  what  way,  madame?  Has  any  one 
been  proposing  for,  or  disposing  of,  you?  If 
so,  you  must  play  cautiously.  It  won't  do  lo 
be  reckless  in  these  matters." 

"  No,  it  will  not.  I  shall  play  my  best."  She 
did  not  smile  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  seemed  very 
much  in  earnest,  and  the  host,  who  was  distin- 
guished for  his  skill,  and  a  great  lover  of  the 
game,  set  to  work  to  arrange  the  men,  with  a 
keen  enjoyment  in  the  consciousness  that  he 
was  to  have  an  opponent  worthy  of  his  steel. 

The  delicate  lady  of  the  mansion  grew  tired 
of  watching  the  board,  fell  asleep,  woke  up, 
and  excused  herself  from  the  parlors,  with  a 
warning  to  her  daughters  to  be  in  their  beds 
by  eleven  o'clock. 

Eleven  o'clock  came,  and  the  gentlemen  went 
away,  the  young  ladies  retired,  laughing  at 
papa  and  Miss  Miller,  still  bent  over  their  first 
game — one  wary,  watchful,  designing — the 
other  obstinate,  fighting  long  on  the  edge  of 
every  lost  field. 

The  house  had  been  long  silent  when  the  old 
clock  struck  twelve,  and  the  gentleman,  rising 
from  his  seat,  cried  with  a  smile — 

"Checkmate  to  your  king,  Miss  Miller  !" 
CHAPTER  XXI. 
A   woman's  eevenge. 

The  day  preceding  that  appointed  for  the 
wedding  was  an  extremely  busy  one  at  Mere- 
dith Place.  No  matter  how  much  time  has 
been  taken  to  prepare,  or  how  perfect  the  ar- 
rangements may  be  supposed  to  have  been 
made,  at  the  last  hour  an  hundred  unexpected 
things  are  to  be  done.  The  bride-elect  alone 
remained  throned  in  royal  indolence,  while  all 
her  subjects  were  doing  something  in  her  honor. 
She  did  not  intend  to  fatigue  herself  or  discom- 
pose herself ;  all  the  pretty  trifles  of  the  toilet 
had  been  tried,  pronounced  upon,  and  disposed 
of ;  the  wedding  dress  and  vail  had  been  donned 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


93 


for  a  private  rehearsal  and  doffed  until  the  ar- 
rival of  the  auspicious  hour  ;  her  trunks  had 
been  packed  by  her  maid,  under  the  direction  of 
Miss  Miller  ;  now,  all  she  had  to  do,  was  to  sit 
and  observe,  while  a  troop  of  gay  girls  deco- 
rated the  long  parlor,  the  hall  and  library,  and 
the  dining-room,  with  such  an  aggregation  of 
flowers  that  one  would  have  supposed  a  county, 
at  least,  had  been  rifled  of  its  bloom  to  adorn 
this  one  old  mansion.  Only  one  apartment 
escaped  the  general  garlanding  ;  the  laboratory 
remained,  as  usual,  closed,  gloomy,  and  silent. 
The  abundance  of  room  in  the  house  was 
such  as  to  have  prevented  any  necessity  for 
putting  the  laboratory  to  use,  and  it  had 
been  allowed  to  remain  as  it  had  stood  since 
Dr.  Meredith's  death.  The  longer  it  was 
avoided  and  abandoned,  the  more  it  took  upon 
itself  a  weird  and  repelling  air,  that  is,  to 
strangers  ;  while,  to  Lillian,  it  was  so  eloquent  of 
the  very  life  and  spirit  of  her  murdered  father, 
that  she  never  yet  had  felt  like  bearing  the 
pain  and  shock  of  a  visit  to  it.  It  had  been  a 
great  comfort  to  her  that  the  present  tenants 
had  allowed  it  to  remain  as  he  had  left  it ;  she 
knew  that,  when  permanent  occupants  bought 
or  took  the  place,  that  room  would  be  the  first 
to  call  for  renovation  and  repair,  and  she 
shrank  from  the  desecration,  far  away  though 
it  might  be,  as  she  would  have  shrunk  from 
the  idea  of  disturbance  to  his  grave.  Only 
Miss  Miller  occasionally  spent  an  hour  there 
alone,  coming  away  from  these  visits  with  the 
compressed  lips,  the  weary,  jaded  air  of  one 
who  grieves  without  a  right,  and  expects  no 
sympathy.  In  the  midst  of  the  joyous  clamor 
of  this  busy  day,  she  turned  the  key  which 
stood  always  in  the  lock,  and  passed  out  of  the 
light  and  perfume  and  sounds  of  merry  voices, 
into  the  chill  of  this  dim,  deserted  region. 
Throwing  herself  into  the  leather-covered  arm- 
chair which  had  been  the  Doctor's  favorite 
seat,  she  leaned  her  forehead  on  her  hand,  sit- 
ting so  motionless  and  silent,  that  she  was  like 
a  part  of  the  neglected  furniture.  She  was 
thinking  of  many  things,  but  at  the  end  of  all 
her  thoughts  chimed  in  the  refrain — "  one  day 
more,  and  the  worst  will  be  over !" 

As  she  sat  there,  muttering  this  to  herself, 
the  door  very  softly  unclosed — it  made  no  more 
noise  in  opening  than  as  if  its  hinges  were 
always  kept  carefully  oiled — and  Mrs.  Mere- 
dith entered.  At  first  she  did  not  see  the  occu- 
pant of  the  arm-chair,  but  stole  softly  forward 
towards  the  shelf  containing  the  more  danger- 
ous drugs  and  chemicals  which  it  had  been  the 
Doctor's  habit  to  keep  in  one  quarter  under  the 
general  head  of  "Poisons,"  which  appeared  in 
a  printed  label  over  the  shelf.    Her  observer 


would  have  given  a  year  of  her  own  life  to  have 
been  invisible  for  the  next  five  minutes  ;  and 
she  waited  in  breathless  suspense  while  Inez 
passed  on  down  the  other  side  of  the  darkened 
room.  The  intruder  looked  pale  in  the  shadowy 
atmosphere,  and  her  lids  were  drawn  together, 
so  that  her  glittering  eyes  emitted  only  a  single, 
line  of  light ;  her  movements  were  cat-like, 
velvety  ;  she  reached  the  shelf,  unaware  of  the 
observation  she  was  under,  and  reaching  up, 
took  down  and  examined  one  after  another  of 
the  glass-stoppered  bottles  which  held  various 
degrees  of  danger  and  death. 

"  If  I  could  read  in  some  book  just  how  they 
acted,  I  should  run  less  risk, ' '  she  murmured, 
in  her  own  language,  which  she  always  used 
when  much  excited  ;  her  watcher  was  familiar 
with  it,  however,  and  comprehended  what  was 
said. 

Turning,  with  a  perplexed  air,  as  if  to  look 
for  a  treatise  on  the  subject  before  her,  Mrs. 
Meredith  met  the  soul-piercing  gaze  which  was 
fixed  upon  her,  and  the  bottle  in  her  hand  fell, 
with  a  crash,  to  the  floor. 

"  I  did  not  see  you, — how  you  frighten  me." 

"Do  I ?  What  are  you  looking  for,  Mrs. 
Meredith  ? — perhaps  I  can  assist  you." 

"Oh,  no  !  I  don't  think  you  can.  I  was  not 
looking  for  anything  in  particular, — something 
— I  don't  know  what !  Sophie  told  me  that 
arsenic  would  improve  my  complexion,  and  I 
was  wondering  if  there  might  be  any  amongst 
this  trash.  Not  that  I  really  thought  of  taking 
any,  but  just  out  of  curiosity,  you  know.  She 
says  she  knows  a  beautiful  woman  who  takes  it 
regularly. ' '  Inez  had  recovered  her  self-posses- 
sion, nearly,  and  was  talking  smoothly,  though 
pale,  and  with  fingers  which  trembled  a  little 
as  she  stooped  to  pick  up  the  broken  glass. 

"  Don't  1"  cried  Miss  Miller,  springing  to  her 
side — "don't  touch  the  glass,  it  may  be  inju- 
rious.   What  is  it  you  have  broken  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  It's  eating  holes  in  my 
dress.  My  pretty  grenadine  is  ruined  !  I'm  so 
sorry  !    What  do  you  think  it  is  ?" 

"  Nothing  worse  than  elixir  vitriol,  this  time, 
I  believe." 

"  What  a  pity,  to  spoil  my  dress  !  But  you 
frightened  me  so !  I  did  not  expect  to  see  any- 
body in  this  dusty  old  place." 

"Nor  I." 

Inez  looked  about,  as  if  to  discover  the  other's 
errand. 

"  /  did  not  come  here  for  beauty-lotions," 
said  Miss  Miller,  with  a  cold  smile.  "I  came 
here  because  I  was  tired  of  so  much  confusion, 
and  desired  to  be  alone." 

"  Oh !  I  thought  perhaps  you  came  for  medi- 
cine.  I  knew  you  were  not  well.   I  oame  here 


90 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


once  for  laudanum,  when  my  tooth  ached.  I 
happened  to  remember  where  the  Doctor  kept 
it." 

"The  Doctor  !"  repeated  the  governess,  me- 
chanically. She  did  not  know  why  the  words 
came  from  her  lips,  but  they  were  forced  out, 
even  as  her  deep-set,  steady  eyes  were  fastened 
upon  those  of  the  widow,  who  shuddered  at  the 
solemn  voice,  and  tried  to  look  away  and  could 
not. 

"Yes,  yes!"  said  Inez,  pettishly,  when  the 
momentary  spell  had  dissolved,  "he  was  in 
here  so  much,  you  know.    It  was  tiresome." 

"Was  it  ?" 

"  To  have  one's  husband  always  about  some- 
thing one  could  not  understand — yes !  That 
was  .  my  misfortune.  I  should  not  have  mar- 
ried as  I  did" — half  crying, — "if  it  had  not 
been  for  papa's  death,  and  such  unpleasant  cir- 
cumstances. I  ought  not  to  have  married  such 
a  learned,  middle-aged  man, — if  I  had  had  a 
chance  to  make  a  suitable  choice  ;  but  I  could 
do  nothing  else.  You  must  own  that  I  could 
do  nothing  else,  under  the  circumstances?" — 
her  words  running  on  unwittingly,  drawn  out 
by  the  power  of  the  steady  eyes  which  she  fear- 
ed and  dreaded,  but  could  not  rid  herself  of. 
"  I  should  have  chosen  a  younger  man,  fash- 
ionable, you  know,  fond  of  society,  who  would 
have  taken  me  out." 

"  The  Doctor  would  have  done  that ;  he  would 
have  dressed  you  superbly,  petted  you  as  no 
younger  man  would  have  done.  You  were  in 
too  great  haste  ;  too  impatient.  You  should 
have  waited." 

' '  Waited  ?  He  died,  did  he  not,  Miss  Miller  ? 
I  am  not  to  blame  for  that.  I  wish  I  had  been 
more  fond  of  him — that  I — that  he  had  not 
gone  so  soon.  Doubtless  I  should  have  grown 
attached  to  him,  and,  as  you  say,  he  would  have 
petted  me,  let  me  do  as  I  pleased.  Now,  no 
one  loves  me  !  Miguel  is  good  to  me,  but  he  is 
only  my  cousin.  Oh,  I  wish  the  Doctor  were 
alive !" 

She  dropped  into  a  chair  and  began  to  sob. 
The  other  regarded  her,  as  she  sat  there  with 
her  face  covered,  with  a  scorn  too  great  for  ex- 
pression. She  could  not  pity  Inez,  knowing 
that  she  loved,  with  all  the  passion  of  her  selfish 
nature,  her  brother,  who  was  about  to  marry  a 
woman  as  beautiful,  and  also  rich. 

She  did  not  believe  that  grief  for  the  dead 
moved  those  easy- flowing  tears,  but  jealousy  of 
the  living.  She  might  have  compassionated 
even  the  errors  of  one  so  young  and  untrained, 
but  when  she  would  have  pitied,  horror  froze 
all  softer  emotion.  The  indifference,  the  heart- 
less apathy  which  the  widow  felt  in  a  death 
which  became  to  her  only  as  a  door  which  re- 


leased her  to  the  liberty  of  seeking  better  things, 
curdled  the  blood  of  this  other  woman  who  had 
made  herself  the  soul-mate  of  the  murdered 
man. 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  the  broken  glass  ?" 
asked  Inez,  presently  ceasing  to  sob,  and  look- 
ing for  help  even  in  this  trivial  difficulty.  "  I 
would  rather  it  should  not  be  known  that  I  was 
in  here." 

' '  I  will  sweep  up  the  fragments  ;  leave  them  ; 
it  is  not  safe  for  you  to  meddle  with  such  things. ' ' 

"But  how  long  do  you  intend  remaining  in 
this  gloomy  place  ?"  asked  Inez,  uneasily.  "  I 
don't  see  what  you  can  possibly  have  to  do  here  ; 
and  I  heard  them  asking  for  you  before  I  came 
in." 

' '  The  world  will  go  on,  if  I  absent  myself  a 
little  while." 

"  No,  but  about  Lillian's  dress.  She  insists 
on  the  lily-of-the-valley  wreaths,  because  she  is 
in  mourning,  and  wishes  to  wear  nothing  but 
pure  white.  We  want  her  to  wear  blue  ;  else 
she  will  look  too  bride-like.  Bertha  will  be 
white  enough  for  all." 

"  I  will  see  to  it,  in  time." 

"  Do,  Miss  Miller.  It  would  be  a  great  pity 
if  anything  were  neglected.  The  event  of  to- 
morrow ought  to  be  a  perfect  success.  Arthur 
and  Bertha  are  quite  sure  it  will  be  ;  so  that 
any  humble  prophecies  of  mine  would  be  im- 
pertinent." 

"Why  should  you  prophesy  anything  ill? 
Stop  a  moment,"  cried  Miss  Miller,  as  the  other 
was  going  away.  She,  herself,  had  felt  ill  at 
ease,  anxious  almost  to  wi]dness — she  had  brood- 
ed over  coming  danger — she  had  calculated 
chances  —  but  what  did  Inez  know  of  these 
things?  Was  it  the  consciousness  of  her  own 
unhappy  secret  which  gave  to  the  other's  tone 
a  meaning  which  it  did  not  possess  ? 

Inez  came  back  playing  with  the  bracelet  on 
her  arm. 

"  All  is  going  on  smoothly,  the  weather  prom- 
ises beautifully, — do  you  know  of  any  reason 
why  to-morrow  should  not  be  all  that  we  ex- 
pect of  it  ?" 

Inez  laughed,  moving  away  again.  There, 
was  malice,  and  more,  in  the  light  laugh  ;  Miss 
Miller  arose,  her  dark  face  flushing  redly — 

"  Stay  a  moment,  Mrs.  Meredith.  I  want  tcj 
advise  you  against  the  use  of  cosmetics, — espe-f 
daily  such  dangerous  ones.  It  was  fortunate 
that  I  was  here,  to-day,  to  prevent  your  doing 
anything  so  rash.  Let  me  warn  you  not  to  at 
tempt  it." 

"  I  did  not  think  of  it.  You  are  mistaken  i 
you  suppose  I  need  such  uncertain  aids.  I  dan 
say  to-morrow  will  be  a  beautiful  day.    I,  fo:i 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


one,  expect  to  enjoy  myself,"  and  humming 
"  Gentle  Zitella,"  she  slipped  away. 

"  An  enemy,"  said  the  governess,  "  who  will 
attack  by  surprise.  But  I  must  not  sit  here, 
fearing  and  trembling.  Work,  work,  is  the 
best  medicine  for  feverish  spirits." 

A  breath  of  sweetness  was  wafted  towards  her 
as  she  came  out  of  the  dark  room  whose  damp 
air  was  like  that  of  a  charnel-house  in  compar- 
ison with  the  warmth  and  redolence  of  perfume. 

I  The  wide  old  hall  was  like  a  fairy  bower.  The 
ancient  clock  stood,  with  smiling  face,  the  cen- 
ter of  a  pyramid  of  flowers.  She  glanced  up 
at  it, — "  three  o'clock.  Will  all  be  as  fair  and 
promising  at  this  hour  one  day  hence  ?" 

Lillian  came  out  of  the  parlor  and  laughingly 
drew  her  in,  to  criticise  or  admire  the  effect, 
according  to  the  voice  of  her  conscience.  Sun- 
light, flowers,  gayety  everywhere  !  Even  Lily 
was  more  like  her  girlish,  radiant  self,  than  she 
had  been  for  fourteen  months, — so  absorbed  in 
the  hopes  and  pleasures  of  others  as  to  forget, 
or  lay  aside,  her  habitually  pensive  air.  She, 
with  the  rest  of  the  bridal  party,  were  to  re- 
main at  Meredith  Place  over  night,  so  as  to  be 
ready  for  the  duties  of  the  morning.  Several 
guests  were  to  arrive  by  the  evening  train. 

It  was  arranged  for  the  wedding  to  take  place 
at  eleven  o'clock,  in  the  village  church  ;  then  a 
breakfast  at  noon  ;  the  newly  married  pair  to 

,  take  the  afternoon  train  to  the  city,  from  whence 
they  would  proceed,  at  their  leisure,  upon  the 

I  wedding  tour. 

j  "Everything  is  faultless,"  pronounced  the 
| judge;  "now,  young  ladies,  away  to  your 
Jroomsfor  an  hour's  rest,  then  dress,  for  tea  and 
^company.  Lily,  Sophie,  Inez,  you  must  come 
^  with  me, — your  rooms  have  been  appropriated 
to  guests,"  and  she  martialed  her  graceful 
forces  as  gayly  as  if  no  heavier  care  pressed  on 
n  her  mind. 

The  evening  was  a  festival  one— fit  prelude  to 
a'  the  happier  expected  day.     A  large  number  of 
011  quests  sat  down  to  the  sumptuous  supper  ;  there 
|  was  music  and  dancing,  afterwards,  in  the  par- 
lor, while  Bertha  walked  back  and  forth  on  the 
|  taoonlit  porch,  listening  to  the  whispers  of  the 
-  nan  whose  wife  she  was  so  soon  to  be,  and  Inez, 
n  the  pauses  of  the  waltz,  stood  in  the  rose- 
;toi3raped  window,  watching  them  with  a  dull 
spurning  glow  at  her  heart  that  lighted  her  eyes 
4  irith  an  unpleasant  brightness. 
)i|    "Bertha,  you  are  magnificent,  standing  thus, 
f  iooded  by  showers  of  moonlight.    If  you  look 
lalf  as  beautiful  to-morrow,  I  shall  behave  like 
:  i  wild  man." 

lie   "  The  hot  sun  will  not  be  as  becoming  to  me 
foi  is  this  silvery  light,  I  dare  say.     We  ought  to 
lave  been  married  at  this  hour,  on  this  porch, 


97 

by  the  light  of  the  moon.  It  would  have  been 
so  romantic !  " 

"  Why  not  ?   It  is  not  too  late.    Shall  we  ?" 

' '  Where  is  the  minister  ?  We  shall  certainly 
be  compelled  to  wait  for  him,  and  he  will  not  be 
here  until  ten  to-morrow. ' ' 

1 1  How  provoking  ! ' ' 

"And  then  the  disappointed  Hamptonites,  and 
the  superfluous  elegance  of  the  dress,  and  the 
wedding  breakfast,  and  all  that !  I'm  not 
romantic  enough  to  waste  so  much  display  and 
expense." 

"  I  rather  like  a  grand  wedding  myself,"  said 
Arthur;  "  they'll  describe  it  in  the  papers,  you 
see.  But  really,  Bertha,  you  are  looking  your 
handsomest.  There  will  not  be  such  a  woman 
at  the  Springs,  I'll  wager." 

1 '  Thank  you ! ' ' 

"Mrs.  Meredith  is  beautiful ;  but  you  quite 
excel  her.    She's  too  petite." 

"  In  fortune  as  well  as  in  figure,"  exclaimed 
Inez,  laughing,  as  she  stepped  through  the  win- 
dow. 1  'Alas  !  what  a  hard  fate  is  mine.  But 
your  mother  says  we  must  all  retire  to  rest  in 
due  season.  It  is  now  approaching  midnight, 
and  she  has  spoken  the  word." 

"Yes,  we  must,  indeed,  be  prudent,"  said 
Arthur.  "  Is  it  so  late  ?  I  have  two  or  three 
letters  to  write  yet,  to-night,  and  some  articles 
to  pack.  Dear  Bertha,  I  must  say  good-bye 
until  to-morrow. ' ' 

He  kissed  her,  bowed  to  Inez,  to  the  friends 
in  the  parlor,  and  ran  lightly  up  to  his  room. 
This  was  the  signal  for  retiring.  All  were  weary, 
and  glad  to  seek  their  apartments.  In  less  than 
an  hour  profound  silence  reigned  where  mirth 
and  music  so  lately  ruled. 

"Come  to  bed,"  called  Miss  Miller,  as  the 
three  girls  who  shared  her  room  continued  to 
chatter  and  laugh,  as  girls  will,  about  the 
waning  light  of  their  bed-room  candle. 

"Yes,  yes,  I'm  in  bed  now,"  answered 
Sophie,  creeping  on  to  the  sofa,  which  was  to  be 
her  improvised  couch. 

Inez  had  a  cot-bed  put  up  on  the  other  side 
of  the  large  chamber. 

"Are  you  through  with  We  light,  Lily  ?" 

"  Yes, — will  you  put  it  out  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

The  next  instant  the  room  was  in  darkness  ; 
Inez  pulled  the  shade  to  keep  out  the  too  bright 
light  of  the  moon,  opened  while  seeming  to 
close  the  door  which  led  into  the  corridor,  slipt 
into  bed,  and  apparently  sank  to  sleep,  for  she 
was  quiet  at  once. 

However,  when  the  others  had  really  fallen 
into  slumber,  she  crept  out,  put  on  her  dress 
and  shoes,  went  noiselessly  down  stairs,  to  the 
laboratory  door,  listened  there  some  time,  and 


i 


93 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


then,  proceeding  to  the  hack  door,  admitted 
three  men,  officers  of  the  law. 

"It  is  all  right,"  she  whispered.  ' 'Station 
yourselves  at  the  door  of  this  room,  and  please 
make  no  noise,  until  I  summon  Mr.  Chateau- 
briand. Is  there  a  guard  at  the  window  I 
mentioned  ? ' ' 

' '  Yes' m.   Two  men  there,  armed  with  guns. ' ' 

"  I  do  not  want  him  to  escape  ;  that  is  why 
I  have  arranged  this  matter  so  cautiously.  You 
get  the  proof  of  the  crime  and  the  criminal  at 
once,  don't  you  see  ? " 

"Mighty  clever,  for  a  woman,"  chuckled 
one  of  the  constables. 

44  Hush !  I  will  not  be  five  minutes  in  bring- 
ing the  master  of  the  house. ' ' 

The  lady,  as  she  went,  lighted  the  hall-lamp 
and  the  bracket-lights  on  the  stair-case,  making 
everything  as  bright  as  possible ;  the  men 
stooped,  listening  at  the  darkened  key-hole,  and 
hearing,  with  that  fine  tingling  which  goes  to 
the  fingers' -ends  when  detecting  the  nature  of 
the  sound,  the  soft  roar  of  the  blow-pipe,  and 
the  stirring  of  a  person  in  the  laboratory. 

"  For  heaven' s  sake,  my  dear  madam,  what  do 
you  Avant  of  me  ? ' '  queried  Mr.  Chateaubriand, 
coming  out  into  the  upper  hall,  dressed,  but  in 
a  state  of  dazed  astonishment,  shortly  after 
Mrs.  Meredith  had  called  him.  She  had  sent 
the  maid  to  the  doors  of  several  of  the  gentle- 
men, and  also  to  Miss  Miller's,  with  word  to  dress 
and  come  out,  as  there  was  danger  impending. 

Most  of  the  guests  thought  some  part  of  the 
house  might  be  on  fire,  and  obeyed  the  summons 
with  alacrity.  All  pressed  together  down  the 
staircase,  in  confusion,  but  not  making  any  great 
outcry. 

"What  is  it?"  again  queried  Mr.  Chateau- 
:briand, — "robbers  in  the  house  V ' — as  he  caught 
;  sight  of  the  three  men  surrounding  the  door  of 
tthe  laboratory. 

1 '  I  wish  to  introduce  you  to  your  son-in-law 
\tn  a  new  character,"  and  Inez,  stepping  in  front 
sfitf  the  sheriff  and  his  aids,  threw  open  the  door. 
■Ml  pushed  forward  into  the  room,  not  know- 
ing what  to  expect^—  all,  save  the  trio  on  guard 
aat  the  door,  who^nerely  closed  up  together, 
forming  a  dark  barrier. 

Jit  the  moment  in  which  the  interior  was  dis- 
posed by  the  action  of  Inez,  a  man  was  bend- 
ing in  front  of  the  furnace,  looking  within  at  a 
erucaMe  whose  contents  he  was  testing ;  the 
glow,  fiameless,  but  intense,  to  which  the  fire 
had  been  urged  by  the  assistance  of  a  blow-pipe, 
reveaiLed  the  outline  of  his  figure  with  even 
more  ■distinctness  than  daylight  could  have  done; 
so  absorbed  was  he  in  his  occupation  that  noth- 
ing had  arrested  his  attention,  of  all  the  whis- 
perings jand  footsteps,  until  the  noiseless  hinges 


moved  and  the  company  pressed  into  the  room. 
Even  then  he  did  not  perceive  them,  until  he 
turned  to  go  to  the  table  where  a  small  lamp 
was  burning,  beside  which  lay  some  articles 
whose  meaning  was  not  at  once  fully  comprehend- 
ed by  those  who  observed  them.  Then,  and  not 
till  then,  the  busy  worker  became  aware  of  the 
fatal  position  in  which  he  was  placed — saw  the 
crowd  which  filled  the  lower  end  of  the  room, 
the  many  eyes  of  those  who  had  been  his  friends 
fixed  upon  him  with  varying  expressions  of 
grief,  anger,  and  amazement.  It  was  the  bride- 
groom of  the  morrow  who  thus  confronted 
them,  dumb,  and  after  the  first  startled  move- 
ment, quite  still. 

"Arthur!"  cried  Bertha,  pushing  through 
the  little  crowd  at  the  door,  and  making  her 
appearance,  with  a  dressing-gown  thrown  ovei 
her  night  attire,  her  unbound  hair  flying, — she 
had  heard  the  alarm,  and  thought,  like  others, 
that  Meredith  Place  was  on  fire.  When  she 
saw  her  affianced  standing  by  the  furnace,  like 
one  at  bay,  she  stopped,  with  that  one  cry,  and 
hung  back. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?"  agam 
demanded  the  master  of  the  house.  "  I  can  not 
say  that  I  understand  it.  If  Mr.  Miller  wishes 
to  pursue  his  chemical  experiments  at  this  un- 
seasonable hour,  why  should  any  trouble  them- 
selves to  interfere  with  him.  Arthur,  for  G-od'i 
sake,  what  are  you  about?" 

There  were  two,  among  the  surprised  group  i 
besides  Mrs.  Meredith,  who  needed  no  explana 
tion,  after  the  first  glance— Lillian  and  Misi 
Miller.    The  latter  leaned  against  the  wall  ® 
her  face,  pale  with  shame  and  despair,  droppecj  * 
into  her  hands,  while  Lillian  clung  to  her,  be  ^ 
ginning  to  cry.    But  as  soon  as  a  soft,  mocking  , 
voice  began  to  speak,  silvery-clear  and  exulting  12 
the  governess  raised  her  head  and  fixed  he:  , 
eyes  on  the  speaker  : 

"I  will  tell  you,  Mr.  Chateaubriand.  He 
is  coining  the  gold  which  was  stolen  at  th  ^ 
time  of  my  husband's  death — coining  it  int*  | 
money,  by  midnight  toil,  to  spend  it  at  othej 
times,  in  keeping  up  those  appearances  whicl 
deceived  you  and  your  daughter  into  believin; 
him  a  young  man  rising  into  wealth.  H 
has  made  money,  indeed  !  literally  made  it,  fror 
the  gold  of  the  orphan  and  widow,  and  on  th  ^ 
strength  of  this  robbery,  has  ingratiated  hia 
self  into  the  affections  of  your  family.    I  ha\>  J. 
suspected  him  for  some  months,  and  been  pos 
tive  of  his  guilt  for  some  weeks.    I  discovere 
the  dies  and  who  it  was  that  used  them,  son  . 
time  ago  ;  but  I  have  failed  to  trace  him  to  tlr 
fountain  from  which  he  obtains  his  supplies- 
the  box  which  disappeared  at  the  time  of  tl 
murder. 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


90 


"Two  of  these  officers  have  followed  him 
continually  the  last  month,  ascertaining  that 
the  money  he  spends  is  always  gold,  of  the 
coinage  of  1817,  as  you  will  find  on  these  dies. 
He  gave  a  thousand  dollars,  the  other  day,  for 
a  bauble  for  his  bride — a  munificence  she  will  ap- 
preciate when  she  knows  that  it  was  Lillian' s 
gold  and  mine,  which  paid  for  it." 

The  stinging  clearness  of  the  voice,  with  its 
soft  foreign  accent,  made  every  word  more 
impressive,  and  as  she  ceased  for  a  moment, 
her  triumphant  glance  swept  the  circle,  falling 
away  from  the  fixed  gaze  of  the  unhappy  sis- 
ter to  rest  on  the  sinking  lids  of  the  brother. 

1 ;  If  you  knew  this,  why  did  you  not  mention 
it  before,  Mrs.  Meredith?'' 

"  "Well,  sir,  I  should  be  very  foolish  to  make 
a  charge  before  I  could  substantiate  it.  I  de- 
sired my  proofs  to  be  absolute.  I  will  not  deny 
that  I  had  also  some  personal  feeling  in  the  mat- 
ter. Air.  Miller  sought  my  hand  before  he  did  your 
daughter's  ;  but  finding  that  he  could  enjoy 
my  wealth  without  the  burden  of  its  owner, 
he  concluded  to  make  it  available  in  securing 
him  the  prestige  of  an  alliance  with  your  family, 
as  well  as  a  second  fortune.  My  Spanish  blood 
rebelled  at  this  treatment,  and  I  acknowledge 
that  I  enjoyed  the  prospect  of  his  humiliation. 

"But  my  malice  does  not  reach  to  your  fam- 
ily, sir.  I  was  willing  and  anxious  to  save 
Miss  Chateaubriand  the  mortification  of  becom- 
ing the  wife  of  a  robber  and  —  no  !  I  will  not 
say  the  other  word  !  I  have  no  positive  proof 
that  that  crime  is  to  be  charged  to  him.  I  only 
say  that  these  circumstances  warrant  us  in  en- 
tertaining a  suspicion.  Who,  but  the  man 
who  knows  where  that  box  is  secreted,  and  who 
has  constantly  used  its  contents,  since  they  came 
into  his  possession — who  else  can  be  the  

"Don't  speak  that  word,  Mrs.  Meredith," 
interrupted  the  governess,  harshly,  while  Lil- 
lian cried  out  as  if  struck. 

' '  Aye  ! ' '  continued  Inez,  turning  towards  Miss 
Miller,  and  growing  more  excited,  "  she  knew  of 
his  guilt  She  also  should  be  arrested  as  an 
accessory. ' ' 

"Did  you?"  asked  Lillian's  mute  eyes,  as 
well  as  the  cold  voice  of  Mr.  Chateaubriand. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  governess,  standing  erect  and 
speaking  with  the  courage  of  which  nothing 
had  ever  deprived  her,  except  her  fear  and  love 
for  another, — "I  have  known  it  for  sometime. 
God  knows  I  have  not  been  an  accomplice.  It 
has  broken  my  heart.  Friends,  you  have  seen 
me  wasting  before  yonr  eyes,  in  the  struggle 
between  duty,  and  love  for  this  erring  brother, 
who  is  like  a  child  to  me.  I  have  been  very 
ambitious  for  him, — the  desire  to  see  him  do 
well  has  been  the  dearest  wish  of  my  heart. 


When  I  found  that  he  was  sinning — robbing 
my  poor  child  here,"  turning  to  Lily,  "  of  her 
patrimony,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  expose 
him,  for  fear  he  would  be  accused  of  a  still 
more  terrible  crime,  of  which  I  know  he  is  innocent. 
I  have  said  to  myself,  I  will  wait, — wait  until  he  is 
married, — then  I  will  compel  him  to  return, 
by  degrees,  as  he  can,  all  the  money  of  others 
which  he  has  spent.  By  that  time  he  will  be 
so  well  established  in  business  that  he  can  do 
it  without  injury  to  himself  or  others.  0,  I 
know  I  have  been  weak — a  coward — done  wrong. 
But  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  ruin  my 
brother." 

Dear  Miss  Miller,"  spoke  Lily,  caressingly, 
"if  others  could  excuse  you  as  I  do.  I  don't 
care  for  the  miserable  gold.  Oh,  Inez,  how 
could  you  be  so  cruel  to  all  of  us?" 

"Why  not  keep  this  a  secret?"  pleaded 
Bertha,  looking  pitifully  at  one  and  another. 
"  If  he  can  restore  the  money,  there  will  be  no 
harm  done.  It  will  be  so  mortifying,  to  me,  to 
you,  papa !  Let  him  leave  the  country,  if  he 
wishes.  I  will  give  up  the  foolish  trinkets  he 
wasted  on  me,  and  make  good  to  Mrs.  Meredith 
her  losses.    Anything  to  save  this  disgrace  I" 

For  the  first  time,  Arthur  raised  his  eyes, 
looking  at  the  beautiful  girl  who  was  to  have 
been  his  bride,  and  from  her  to  her  father,  to 
note  the  effect  of  this  appeal. 

"0,  do  let  it  be  so,"  cried  Lillian,  "  for  my 
friend's  sake." 

"  Xever  \"  said  Inez.  "You  have  had  your 
triumph,  Bertha,  and  I  will  have  mine.  And 
then — a  murderer  !    How  dare  you  ?' ' 

"It  is  our  duty  to  arrest  him,"  interposed 
the  sheriff,  and  stepping  within,  leaving  his 
two  men  to  guard  the  door,  he  advanced  to  lay 
his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  his  prisoner. 

With  a  bound  like  that  of  a  panther  Arthur 
sprang  to  the  window,  which  it  chanced  his  sis- 
ter had  raised  to  free  the  room  from  the  odor 
of  the  acid  which  Inez  had  spilled.  The  sash 
was  up,  but  the  shutters  were  closed,  as  usual, 
— with  one  blow  of  his  fist  he  sent  them  flying, 
and  leaped  through  the  opening  to  the  ground 
beneath.  So  quickly  was  the  feat  accomplished 
that  the  two  men  on  guard  beneath  had  no  time 
for  thought  or  action,  before  the  flying  man 
was  on  his  feet  again,  and  away,  down  the  gar- 
den with  the  speed  of  a  deer. 

"Fire!"  shouted  the  sheriff,  leaning  from 
the  window,  perceiving  that  the  fugitive  was 
otherwise  certain  of  present  escape. 

One  of  the  men  raised  his  musket  and  aimed  it 
at  the  dark  figure  flitting  from  bush  to  tree,  un- 
der the  tell-tale  light  of  the  calm  moon,  a  sharp 
report  rang  upon  the  perfumed  silence  of  the 


100 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


summer  night,  the  flying  figure  leaped,  stum- 
bled, and  fell. 

"  He's  hit,"  muttered  the  officer,  looking 
back  upon  the  pale  faces  of  the  now  hushed 
group;  "it's  bad,  but  couldn't  be  helped! 
"When  a  fellow  runs,  he  must  take  the  chances." 

He  and  his  aids  went  out,  followed  by  Mr. 
Chateaubriand  and  two  or  three  gentlemen.  In 
five  minutes  the  master  of  the  house  returned 
and  whispered  to  his  wife:  "Take  Bertha  up 
stairs  with  you.    She  must  not  see  this  !" 

They  carried  the  bride-elect  up  stairs,  shriek- 
ing hysterically,  not  so  much  from  the  agony  of 
her  bereavement  as  the  terrible  shock  to  and 
sudden  revulsion  of  feeling.  No  one  thought 
particularly  of  the  sister,  except  Lillian,  who 
still  clung  to  her  hand,  and  tried  to  persuade 
her  to  go  up  stairs. 

Then  the  heavy  shambling  feet  of  the  men 
were  heard  outside,  at  the  door,  in  the  hall,  and 
there  in  that  bower  which  had  been  decked  for 
his  bridal,  in  the  midst  of  all  those  arches  and 
pyramids  of  bloom,  they  laid  their  burden 
down.  The  old  clock,  though  half  smothered 
in  flowers,  ticked  as  loudly,  as  gayly  as  ever — 
but  the  heart  of  the  young  man  beat  no  more. 

"He  is  quite  dead,"  said  the  constable. 

Then  the  woman  who  had  accused  and  be- 
trayed him,  realizing  that  her  revenge  had  been 
too  complete,  threw  herself  beside  the  body  with 
a  wail  which  told  her  love  even  more  loudly 
than  her  remorse. 

Impulsive,  unreasoning,  and  unprincipled,  she 
had  triumphed  over  those  of  whom  she  was 
jealous,  only  to  feel  that  she  had  wounded  her- 
self. Her  moans  and  screams  were  such  as  to 
melt  the  stern  hearts  of  men  who  already  felt 
appalled  at  the  too  sudden  punishment  which 
had  overtaken  the  erring  young  man. 

The  guard  who  fired  the  fatal  shot  was  walk- 
ing back  and  forth  out-of-doors,  endeavoring  in 
vain  to  quiet  his  aching  conscience  by  the  whis- 
per of  duty.  The  scene  in  the  hall  became  un- 
endurable, and  servants  were  ordered  to  carry 
Mrs.  Meredith  to  her  room,  and  forcibly  detain 
her  there. 

In  the  meantime,  .Miss  Miller,  who  had  faint- 
ed at  the  first  cry  that  her  brother  was  hurt,  lay 
on  the  floor  of  the  laboratory,  her  head  pillow- 
ed in  Lillian's  lap,  looking  almost  as  ghastly  as 
the  dead.  Sophie's  maid  was  chafing  her  tem- 
ples and  hands,  while  Lillian,  frightened  to  see 
her  so  long  remain  insensible,  dreaded  the  mo- 
ment when  she  should  arouse  to  a  full  conscious- 
ness of  what  had  happened. 

Thus  the  brief  summer  night  brightened  into 
dawn,  and  the  sun  arose  upon  the  bridal  day 
which  but  yesterday  Arthur  had  gayly  apostro- 
phised in  the  words  of  Tennyson — 


"  Move  eastward,  happy  earth,  and  leavo 

Yon  orange  sunset  waning  slow; 
From  fringes  of  the  faded  eve, 

Oh,  happy  planet,  eastward  go  I 
Ah,  bear  me  with  thee,  smoothly  born, 

Dip  forward,  under  starry  light, 
And  move  me  to  my  marriage  morn, 

And  'round  again,  to  happy  night." 

The  marriage  morning  had  dawned,  and  his  j„ 

sun  had  set  forever,  in  a  darkness  and  a  cold-  |( 

ness  far  away  from  the  "happy  night"  he  had  ^ 

anticipated.    His  was  the  crime  and  error  of  a  ^ 

weak  and  pleasure-loving  nature.  Others,  be-  ^ 
side  his  wretched  sister,  made  many  excuses  for 

him,  as  he  lay  there,  dead,  in  the  midst  of  the  m 

garlands  which  had  been  wreathed  for  his  wed-  ^ 
ding. 

CHAPTER  XXII.  I 

CONSCIENCE  MAKES  COWARDS  OF  US  ALL.  pi 

The  excitement  following  upon  the  frightful 
drama  of  the  night  set  Hampton  township  wild.  ^ 
Alas  !  when  one's  griefs  or  misfortunes  are  of  a  tt 
character  which  gives  the  public  a  right  to  111 
make  free  with  them  !  Trouble,  under  such  ^ 
circumstances,  is  far  more  unendurable  than  1 
when  it  can  be  kept  sacredly  in  the  privacy  of 
our  own  homes.  Such  was  the  tragedy  which  F 
once  before  had  filled  Meredith  Place  with  cu-  i  ^ 
rious  and  whispering  throngs,  and  which  now  m 
again  crowded  it  with  inquisitive  strangers.  I 

Mr.  Chateaubriand  soon  gave  orders  to  have 
the  gates  closed  against  all  except  those  who  I  & 
had  business  there.    A  coroner's  jury  was  em-  j 
paneled,  and  a  verdict  rendered  of  justifiable 
homicide  by  the  hand  of  an  officer  in  the  exe-  *> 
cution  of  the  law  ;  then  the  doors  were  closed 
against  all  but  friends,  the  signet  of  mourning :  «l 
placed  upon  them,  and  rumor  left  outside  to !  ft 
go  insane  over  her  own  conjectures. 

It  was  very  natural  that  people  should  be-  at 
lieve  that  the  robber  was  also  the  murderer.  '  ra 
It  was  at  once  decided  that  Arthur  Miller  had  in* 
taken  advantage  of  his  sister's  position  in  the  *i 
family,  to  rob  Dr.  Meredith,  and  make  way  t« 
with  him. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  Inez'  declara-  j  of 
tion  that  the  doctor  had  himself  secreted  the  I 
treasure  the  night  before  his  death,  was  known  rc 
only  to  her  friends  ;  and  even  if  the  public  had  ot 
known  it,  it  would  be  easy  to  surmise  that  to 
Arthur,  lingering  about  the  place,  had  chanced  h 
to  observe  the  doctor  in  the  act,  and  had  then  ft 
and  there  resolved  to  murder  him  in  order  to 
enjoy  the  money  with  whose  place  of  deposit 
he  only  would  be  acquainted. 

From  this  predicate,  the  world  went  on  to  J 
assert  that  Miss  Miller,  if  not  equally  guilty  fa 
with  her  brother,  of  the  murder,  was  an  acces-  | 
sory  to  the  robbery,  and  to  loudly  demand  her  <- 
arrest.    At  first,  she  heard  nothing  of  this,  : 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


101 


from  that  dark  chamber  of  the  old  house,  where 
she  lay  in  a  stupor  more  painful  to  combat  than 
the  unreasoning  and  querulous  ravings  of  Inez, 
or  the  silent  tears  of  the  bride.  The  Chateau- 
briands  knew  that  a  warrant  was  out  for  her 
arrest ;  and  that  the  delay  in  serving  it  was 
owing  to  the  compassion  felt  for  one  of  her  sex 
in  her  ill  and  helpless  condition.  As  long  as 
her  friends  would  pledge  themselves  to  guard 
her  from  escape,  she  should  remain  unmolested 
until  sufficiently  recovered  to  bear  the  change 
without  detriment  to  her  health. 

The  haughty  Chateaubriands,  chafing  at  the 
unpleasant  notoriety  in  which  they  had  been 
involved,  still  conducted  themselves  with  a 
propriety  which  came  very  near  being  Christian. 
They  insisted  that  the  funeral  should  take 
place  from  their  house,  and  paid  every  possible 
honor  to  the  departed,  as  if  he  had  been,  indeed, 
their  son.  If  they  felt  that  they  had  been  de- 
eived  in  and  wronged  by  Miss  Miller,  they 
made  no  exposition  of  their  feelings  while  she 
lay  beneath  their  roof,  stunned  by  the  calamity 
which  had  crushed  her. 

They  resolved,  as  soon  after  the  funeral  as 
possible,  to  take  Bertha  away  from  scenes  which 
hereafter  could  only  be  distressing  to  her  ;  they 
would  spend  the  remainder  of  the  season  in 
traveling  with  her.  '  They  would  have  liked 
much  to  invite  Don  Miguel  to  make  one  of 
their  party  ;  but  if  they  did  so,  they  must  also 
invite  Inez,  and  they  had  a  distaste  to  her  so- 
ciety, since  her  talent  for  melodrama  had  been 
so  unpleasantly  displayed. 

Bertha  could  not  endure  the  sight  of  her  ; 
and,  altogether,  her  position  was  not  enviable. 
However,  she  did  not  seem  to  realize  it ;  sensi- 
tiveness, of  a  delicate  kind,  was  not  one  of  her 
attributes ;  she  clung  to  every  one  near  her, 
complained,  bewailed,  and  was  hysterical,  as 
inclination  moved.  The  Don  was  very  patient 
with  her,  though  he  could  not  conceal  the  con- 
tempt which  mingled  with  his  affection.  His 
acquaintance  with  a  woman  of  Lillian's  dignity 
of  character  had  opened  .his  eyes  to  the  fact 
that  all  of  her  sex  were  not  like  his  wayward 
cousin.  He  was  anxious  to  remove  Inez  at 
once  from  the  neighborhood  ;  but  his  courtesy 
to  the  family  prompted  him  to  remain  to  the 
funeral,  the  preparations  for  which  went  for- 
ward speedily. 

Lillian  spent  her  time  beside  Miss  Miller's 
bed.  She  had  not  a  thought  or  word  of  com- 
plaint of  one  whom  she  loved  and  honored. 
She  understood,  now,  all  that  had  been  mys- 
terious about  the  scene  at  the  laboratory  door 
on  the  occasion  of  the  broken  arm  ;  the  gov- 
erness had  told  her  that  she,  too,  as  well  as 
mvself,  was  suspicious  of  a  person,  and  had  fol- 


lowed him  to  the  place,  not  dreaming  that  I, 
also,  was  on  the  watch.  It  was  her  breath  I 
had  heard,  her  approach  I  had  detected  in  the 
darkness,  and  which  had  sent  thrills  over  me, 
as  if  a  disembodied  spirit  had  approached. 
She  had  waited,  as  I  was  waiting,  and  when 
the  door  unclosed,  instead  of  striking  down  the 
transgressor,  I  had  smitten  her,  and  given  him 
opportunity  for  escape.  She  would  not  explain 
I  this  to  me,  because  she  would  not  criminate  her 
brother.  She  had  explained  it  to  Lily,  with 
the  reservation  of  the  guilty  man's  name  ;  and 
Lily  had  been  so  blind  as  never  once  to  suspect 
Arthur. 

Looking  back  upon  it  now,  Lillian  could  see 
how  the  sad  secret  had  worn  out  the  health  and 
spirits  of  her  friend.  She  did  not  doubt  that 
Miss  Miller  intended  the  fullest  restitution,  as 
soon  as  she  could  bring  it  about  without  ruin- 
ing her  brother,— and  she  loved  her  all  the 
more  tenderly  that  her  love  for  him  had  be- 
trayed her  into  a  weakness  which  she  would 
not  allow  was  a  crime. 

Beyond  this  she  hardly  dared  allow  her 
thoughts  to  go.  The  great  probability  that 
Arthur  had  been  the  one  who  tore  her  father 
from  his  hold  on  life,  continually  forced  itself 
upon  her,  and  was  as  constantly  resisted.  Be- 
cause Arthur  was  her  friend's  brother,  she  did 
not  like  to  admit  the  possibility, — yet  some 
one  had  done  the  deed,  and  who  else — who 
else  could  it  be  ?  All  the  first  horror  was  brought 
back  by  the  second  tragedy  which  had  grown 
out  of  it ; — she  was  shaken,  soul  and  body,  and 
felt,  if  possible,  a  desolation  greater  than  when 
her  father  was  first  taken  away.  Then  she  had 
Miss  Miller,  and  her  cousin  Joe, — now,  one 
had  fled,  unjustly  accused, — the  other  lay  pros- 
trate, a  burden,  who  had  been  so  strong  to 
bear. 

In  the  meantime,  Hampton,  too,  had  re- 
called memories  of  the  poor  cousin  who  had 
been  driven  ignominiously  from  its  midst.  A 
reaction  set  in,  in  my  favor,  and  if  one  reflects 
upon  the  natural  course  of  such  a  reaction, 
heightened  by  remorse  at  the  consciousness  of 
false  accusations,  he  may  estimate  how  high 
the  tide  of  popular  feeling  now  ran  in  my 
favor. 

Had  I  made  my  appearance  at  that  crisis, 
doubtless  I  should  have  been  overwhelmed 
with  hand-shakings  and  love-feasts.  The  good 
Hamptonians  felt  very  uneasy  as  they  wondered 
into  what  possible  despairs  and  dissipations 
they  had  driven  a  young  man,  whose  worst 
fault,  after  all,  was  in  having  had  a  bad  father, 
and  who  was,  come  to  think  of  it,  a  most  stu- 
dious, retiring,  harmless  young  fellow,  who 
would  not  hurt  a  fly  except  in  the  way  of  surgi* 


102 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


cal  experiments.  Some  young  ladies  even  re- 
called that  I  had  given  promise  of  being  good- 
looking  when  my  mustache  had  acquired  body, 
and  I  got  able  to  dress  a  little  more  fashionably. 

There  was  much  regret,  too,  for  the  sake  of 
Lillian  Meredith,  that  the  hiding-place  of  her 
fortune  still  remained  a  mystery.  Whatever 
inroads  Miller  might  have  made  upon  it,  with 
his  reckless  expenditures,  doubtless  a  consider- 
able portion  remained.  It  did  seem  like  a 
strange  fatality,  that,  amid  all  the  discoveries 
made — by  Miss  Miller,  in  her  somnambulic  state, 
by  Mrs.  Meredith,  in  ferreting  out  the  habit  of 
the  young  man  of  visiting  the  laboratory  at 
midnight  hours,  the  actual  hiding-place  of  the 
box  remained  unrevealed.  Lillian  thought  less 
about  it,  perhaps,  than  any  one  else  ;  she  had 
found  that  she  could  support  herself  ;  and  steady 
employment  seemed  almost  desirable,  as  forcing 
her  to  put  aside  the  vail  of  morbid  melancholy 
in  which  she  was  tempted  to  wrap  herself. 

Mr.  Chateaubriand  considered  it  his  duty  to 
look  more  closely  after  her  interests.  With  the 
consent  and  cooperation  of  Don  Miguel,  acting 
as  Mrs.  Meredith's  counsel,  he  at  once  institu- 
ted the  most  thorough  investigation  of  the 
premises,  in  hopes  of  unearthing  the  treasure. 
Out-buildings  and  gardens,  cellar  and  attic,  un- 
derwent a  probing  which  would  have  done  credit 
to  the  French  police.  The  result  remained  as 
unsatisfactory  as  ever.  The  people  of  Hampton 
resolved  that  Doctor  Meredith's  bullion  had  be- 
come a  myth,  to  be  sought  after,  vainly  and 
with  infatuation,  as  several  generations  had 
sought  after  the  buried  riches  of  Captain  Kidd. 

On  the  third  day  after  the  death  the  funeral 
took  place.  The  flowers  had  not  yet  completely 
withered,  which  were  gathered  for  the  bridal  ; 
reversing  the  order  of  which  Hamlet  com- 
plained, the  wedding  banquet  furnished  forth 
the  funeral  baked  meats;  an  immense  concourse 
followed  the  body  to  the  grave;  the  ceremonies 
were  performed  by  the  clergyman  who  was  to 
have  united  the  young  couple  ;  the  groomsmen 
were  the  pall-bearers;  the  man  who  was  sent  to 
death — 

"  With  all  his  imperfections  on  his  head," 

was  not  denied  the  poor  tribute  of  outward 
respect. 

None  of  the  ladies  of  the  family  went  to  the 
cemetery.  Inez  plead  and  wept  to  be  allowed  to 
go  ;  but  Don  Miguel  had  no  idea  of  permitting 
her  to  get  up  a  scene  at  the  grave,  for  the  edifi- 
cation of  curious  hundreds;  his  commands  were 
imperative,  and  she  reluctantly  obeyed  them. 
The  chief  mourner,  the  sister  of  the  dead,  still 
continued  in  that  stupor  which  was  so  like 
unconsciousness,  that  Lillian,  watching  beside 


her,  doubted  if  she  knew  that  the  day  and  hour 
of  the  burial  had  come  and  gone. 

On  account  of  the  intense  heat  of  the  day, 
the  last  rites  were  postponed  until  the  sunset 
hour.  When  all  was  over,  the  pall-bearers, 
including  Don  Miguel  and  other  friends  who 
had  remained  to  the  funeral,  gathered  once 
more  in  the  dim  parlor  of  the  old  mansion.  On 
the  morrow,  the  most  of  them  returned  to  1 
New  York,  including  the  Don  and  Inez,  who 
were  to  go  to  Canada  to  while  away  the  time 
until  it  would  be  safe  to  re-visit  Havana. 
Within  a  few  days  it  was  the  purpose  of  the 
master  of  the  house  to  leave  Hampton. 

Although  none  of  the  company  could  be  said 
to  feel  any  violent  sorrow  for  the  death  of  Ar- 
thur Miller,  and  would  doubtless  be  glad,  in 
the  morning,  to  shake  off  the  gloom  under 
which  they  had  sat  for  the  last  three  days,  still 
there  was  a  shadow  on  every  face,  and  the  most 
careless  felt  awed  by  the  solemn  events  which  I 
had  occurred  in  place  of  the  festivities  which 
they  had  anticipated.  The  day  deepened  into 
twilight,  and  the  lights  were  lit  in  the  long 
dining-room,  when  the  party  was  summoned  to 
supper.  Sophie  had  insisted  upon  Lillian's 
coming  down  and  joining  the  family  at  this  ! 
meal ;  and  as  her  charge  appeared  to  be  sleep- 
ing, she  consented.  Inez  also  was  present;  she 
could  rave,  but  not  in  solitude — solitude  was  the 
worst  trial  a  nature  like  hers  could  bear,  and 
she  had  gladly  stolen  down  at  the  first 
summons,  and  placed  herself  by  Don  Miguel's 
side. 

When  the  meal  was  about  half  through  with, 
an  apparition  appeared  at  the  door  leading  from 
the  hall  into  the  room.  Inez  sat  near  the  head 
of  the  table,  at  the  opposite  side,  so  that  her 
face  was  towards  the  door,  and  she  was  one 
of  the  first  to  perceive  the  intruder,  who 
advanced  slowly  up  the  room.  It  was  Miss 
Miller,  in  her  night-dress,  which  was  loosely 
trailing  about  her  tall,  commanding  figure. 
Don  Miguel,  looking  up,  murmured  involun- 
tarily : 

"  Lo,  you,  here  she  comes  !  This  is  her  very 
guise  ;  and  upon  my  life,  fast  asleep.  Observe 
her;  stand  close." 

Indeed,  none  who  beheld  her  had  power  to 
do  otherwise  ;  no  one  could  have  moved,  nor 
made  an  attempt  to  prevent  her,  as  she  walked 
feebly  up  the  room,  her  eyes,  in  which  there 
was  no  speculation,  wide  open,  her  brow  pale 
and  beaded  with  drops  of  sweat,  to  which  the 
dark  tresses  of  her  hair  clung  damply.  Lillian 
saw  at  a  glance  that  she  had  risen  from  her  bed 
and  sallied  forth  on  one  of  her  somnambulistic 
excursions  ;  but  she,  like  the  others,  sat  pow- 
erless, fascinated  by  the  expression  of  that 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


103 


dead-alive  face.  Miss  Miller  did  not  carry  a 
;  taper,  like  Lady  Macbeth,  but  she  bore  a  small 
salver,  on  which  was  a  wine-glass  filled  with 
wine.  Unerringly,  but  very  slowly,  she  glided 
up  the  long  apartment,  around  the  head  of  the 
|  table,  and  down  again,  until  she  came  to  where 
i  Inez  sat,  when  she  placed  the  salver  on  the 
table  before  her,  and,  lifting  the  glass,  present- 
ed it,  with  a  sweet  smile  breaking  most 
strangely  over  the  marble  countenance,  and 
j  said,  softly,  in  almost  a  whisper,  but  so  that  all 
!  present  heard — ■ 

"  You  look  pale,  mio  caro  sposa,  you  do,  indeed. 
Don't  you  think  a  glass  of  wine  will  do  you  good?" 

Inez,  pushing  back  her  chair,  arose,  recoiling 
from  the  proffered  glass. 

"  I  did  not  say  that !  I  did  not  say  that  !" 
she  stammered. 

' '  Our  Spanish  doctors  always  order  port  for  your 
complaint;  but  I  suppose  you  think  yourself  wiser,  eh, 
my  darling  old  doctor!"  continued  the  sleep- 
walker, still  proffering  the  wine. 

"  I  tell  you  I  did  not  say  that !  go  away  !  go 
away  !"  screamed  Inez 

"  Well,  well!  I  will  set  it  here,  and  you  can  drink 
it  when  you  like,"  went  on  the  other,  setting  the 
glass  on  the  salver. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?"  asked  Don  Miguel, 
sternly,  grasping  his  cousin's  arm. 

Inez  looked  up  at  him  piteously,  and  back  at 
the  white-robed  phantom  whose  deep  set  eyes 
met  hers. 

"Because  I  brought  him  wine,"  she  ex- 
claimed, frantically,  "is  that  any  reason  for 
suspecting  that  I  put  poison  in  it  ?" 
Her  loud  voice  had  the  effect  to  somewhat 

i  disturb  the  somnambulist,  who  rubbed  her  hand 
across  her  forehead  with  a  perplexed  air, — the 
observers  waited  breathlessly,  believing  her 
about  to  awaken,  but  her  countenance  took  on 
again  that  half- vacant,  half-spiritual  pallor  and 
radiance,  as  she  fixed  her  gaze  on  Don  Miguel, 
and  murmured : 

' s  I  heard  the  words,  Arthur,  as  I  was  under  the 

j  library  window,  pulling  some  roses.    I  never  told  of 

!  them,  for,  you  know,  she  was  such  a  baby.  I  could 
not  believe  my  own  ears, — besides,  she  might  have 
brought  him  the  wine  and  others  might  have  poisoned 
it — don't  you  see  ?  and  I  would  not  be  unjust — even 
to  her  !    But  now  they  say  you  are  the  murderer, 

j  brother, — leant  bear  that !    I  shall  tell  all — all! 

\  I  shall  accuse  her  !  I  shall  point  to  her  and  say, — 
you  did  it  !  you  did  it!"  and  stretching  out  her 
arm,  the  speaker  pointed  with  fixed  finger,  and 
an  awful  intense  gaze  at  the  shrinking  and 
quivering  girl,  who  cowered  before  the  finger 
and  the  eyes,  and  fell  on  her  knees,  sobbing. 
"Don't  look  at  me  so,  Miss  Miller,  don't! 


Indeed,  I  did  not  mean  to  kill  him !  I  never 
dreamed  that  one  drop — one  little  drop — would 
hurt  him.  Who  could  suppose  it  would  ?  I  only 
gave  it  to  him  for  a  charm — just  to  see — to  try 
because — oh,  what  am  I  saying?  You  must 
remember  how  I  screamed  when  I  came  in  and 
found  him  dead, — you  must  acknowledge  that 
I  was  surprised — horrified.  I  only  meant  to 
give  him  a  drop  a  day,  to  see  how  it  worked. 
Oh,  what  a'm  I  saying  again  ?  Miguel,  cousin, 
you  are  not  going  to  desert  me  ?  I  don't  want 
to  go  to  prison — to  die !  when  I  did  not  mean 
it, — when  I  only  dropped  one  drop,  or  two,  per- 
haps, for  my  hand  trembled." 

She  looked  about  upon  the  company.  Don 
Miguel  had  drawn  away,  and  was  gazing  at 
her,  with  folded  arms,  and  a  look  of  horror, — 
the  faces  of  all  the  others  were  as  the  faces  of 
ghosts.  Lillian  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  stood 
with  clasped  hands. 

"  Her  fondness  for  you  was  not  in  your  honor, 
Arthur, ' '  continued  the  somnambulist,  ' '  you  ought 
not  to  have  been  flattered  by  it.  I  have  excused  much 
in  her,  but  any  human  being,  not  an  idiot  or  insane, 
would  not  be  justified  in  indulging  such  fancies, — and 
she  a  married  woman,  married  to  such  a  man!" 

"  I  loved  him  the  first  time  I  saw  him,"  went 
on  Inez;  distractedly,  ' '  he  was  so  much  more 
suitable  in  years  and  tastes.  But  I  did  not 
mean  to  let  him  see  it, — and  I  never  meant  to 
harm  my  husband,  who  was  so  good  to  me  ;" 
and  here  she  began  to  shed  alligator's  tears. 

"Wicked  !  incredible  !"  murmured  the  Don, 
stepping  back,  as  she  turned,  on  her  knees,  to 
him. 

"I'm  not  wicked,  cousin  !  Indeed,  I  didn't 
mean  the  worst.  Oh  !  you  won't  let  the  offi- 
cers take  me,  will  you?  I  wish  to  go  way 
from  here,  back  to  Havana,  with  you,  and  be  a 
better  woman.  I  am  too  young  and  delicate  to 
die — to  have  a  rope  put  about  my  neck ! ' '  and  she 
put  up  her  little  jeweled  hand  and  felt  of  her 
slender  throat,  with  a  movement  which  would 
have  been  sufficiently  pathetic  could  the  spec- 
tators have  rid  themselves  of  the  knowledge 
that  they  were  gazing  upon  as  heartless  and 
selfish  a  woman  as  ever  breathed. 

Even  as  it  was,  the  influence  of  youth  and 
beauty  was  powerful.  She  looked  so  childish, 
with  her  face  upraised,  and  so  graceful,  and  so 
lovely,  in  the  abandonment  of  fear,  it  seemed  im- 
possible to  credit  her  with  her  own  confessions. 
Mr.  Chateaubriand  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  She  is,  indeed,  too  frail  to  be  handed  over 
to  the  law.  I  believe  that  she  never  meant  to 
kill  Dr.  Meredith.  It  resulted  from  her  lawless 
fancies  and  her  ignorance.  I  do  not  know  if  I 
do  right,  but  I  am  agreed,  if  the  rest  of  you 
are,  to  allow  Don  Miguel  to  take  her  from  the 


104 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


country,  before  this  thing  becomes  known  out- 
side the  walls." 

For  a  moment  no  one  responded. 

"If  it  were  not  for  the  disgrace,"  said  the 
Don,  bitterly,  "I  would  leave  her  to  her  fate. 
I  hardly  feel  as  if  I  wanted  anything  more  to  do 
with  her, — certainly  not  to  assume  the  respon- 
sibility of  her  future  conduct." 

' '  Take  me  to  a  convent, ' '  pleaded  Inez,  ' 1 1 
believe  I  would  rather  live  with  the  nuns,  than 
to  be  hung,  or  to  live  in  prison,"  with  a  shud- 
der. 

"  So  be  it,  then,  if  no  resistance  is  made  to 
your  going.  In  a  few  hours  there  will  be  a 
train  passing, — go,  gather  your  effects.  I  shall 
be  ready." 

Inez  rose  and  went  out  alone  ;  none  of  the 
ladies  offered  to  assist  her. 

" Arthur,"  continued  the  sleeper,  "since  you 
are  buried,  and  since  he  sleeps  there  also,  I  believe 
I  will  make  my  bed  to-night,  in  the  grave-yard." 

So  saying,  she  resumed  her  slow  walk,  passing 
outof  the  room,  followed  by  Lillian  and  Mrs.  Cha- 
teaubriand ;  she  would  have  gone  out  of  doors, 
in  her  bare  feet,  had  they  not  gently  barred  her 
way  and  led  her  back  to  her  chamber. 

Scarcely  had  they  seen  her  safely  in  bed  when 
Don  Miguel  knocked  at  the  door  to  bid  them  a 
gloomy  adieu  ;  he  held  Lily's  hand  a  moment 
with  a  nervous  pressure,  dropped  it  and  turned 
away,  with  his  emotions,  whatever  they  were, 
unuttered. 

"Don't  trouble  yourself  to  go  to  the  cottage 
to-night, ' '  he  said,  ' '  I  will  see  that  she  has  what 
she  needs,"  and  thus,  without  look  or  word,  Lil- 
lian and  Inez  parted,  and  their  ways  thereafter 
led  in  widely-differing  directions. 

When  the  night-express  thundered  in  and 
out  of  Hampton,  it  bore  her  away  whose  com- 
ing had  wrought  such  changes  at  Meredith 
Place  ;  whose  inmates  shuddered  and  sighed  as 
the  echoes  died  away,  at  the  thought  of  what 
she  had  been  and  done,  and  that  they  should 
probably  never  know  more  of  one  whose  future 
promised  so  illy. 

' '  I  am  afraid  I  did.  wrong  to  allow  her  to  es- 
cape from  the  grasp  of  the  law,"  said  Mr.  Cha- 
teaubriand ,  walking  uneasily  about  the  chamber, 
unable  to  sleep. 

"  We  did,  I  know  ;  but  who  could  have  the 
heart  to  punish  her?"  responded  his  wife,  shiv- 
ering. "She  seems  to  me,  even  yet,  like  an 
infant  who  lights  a  match  and  throws  it  down, 
innocent  of  the  consequences.  Nature  seems 
to  have  denied  her  a  consicence,  while  giving 
her  that  sweet  face  and  childish  manner.  I 
can  not  realize  it !  I  seem  to  have  been  dream- 
ing a  hideous  dream." 

"  It  is  a  night-mare  from  which  I  wish  there 


was  an  awakening.  Poor  Don  Miguel  is  cruelly 
punished  in  having  such  a  relative  thrust  upon 
him.  He  seemed  very  much  dejected  when  he 
went  away, — and  yet  he  was  not  harsh  with 
her.  I  suppose  he  will  bury  her  in  some  Span- 
ish nunnery,  and  we  shall  never  hear  of  her 
again.  I  propose  that  we  keep  silence  until 
the  warrant  is  served  against  Miss  Miller,  when 
we  shall  be  obliged  to  declare  what  we  know, 
in  order  to  protect  her.  I  shall  not  be  sorry 
to  get  away  from  all  this !" 

"  Poor  Lillian  !  that  child's  courage  is  sur- 
prising,— I  wish  we  could  take  her  with  us.  I 
can  not  think  contentedly  of  going  away,  leav- 
ing her  so  solitary.    I  would  like  to  adopt  her. ' ' 

"  My  good  little  madame,  so  would  I.  She 
is  a  gem.  But  she  will  never  consent.  She 
has  the  pride  of  all  the  Merediths  under  her 
demure  modesty.  Good  heaven  !  how  she  must 
feel  this  night!  I  can't  sleep,  for  thinking  of 
it.  I  should  think  it  would  kill  her.  That 
scene  would  have  shaken  the  nerves  of  the 
stoutest  stranger.  How  awful  the  majesty  of 
that  accusing  specter  !  Inez  could  not  escape 
her.  All  the  guilt  which  was  written  in  her 
heart  appeared  upon  her  fair  face  under  the 
flame  of  those  penetrating  eyes,  as  concealed 
writing  comes  out  when  exposed  to  the  heat. ' ' 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it,  to  my  dying  day  !" 

' 1  None  of  us  will,  I  think.  Probably  not 
twice  for  us  will  the  curtain  rise  upon  such  a 
tragedy." 

Nor  for  any  others  who  witnessed  that  strange 
supper-table  scene.  None  who  were  present 
but  acted  it  over  in  dreams  through  many  a 
haunted  night  thereafter,— shrinking  as  if  them- 
selves were  doomed,  when  the  slow  finger  of 
the  sleep-walker  pointed  at  the  shrinking  girl 
who  trembled  at  her  feet. 

CHAPTER  XXni. 

come  home!   come  home! 

I  sat  in  my  little  out-west  office,  looking  out 
the  open  door,  at  the  bright-colored  leaves 
which  dropped  and  loosened  and  dropped 
dreamily  through  the  haze  of  the  soft  September 
day.  I  could  see,  also,  the  great  river  which 
rolled  in  front  of  the  the  straggling  village  in 
which  I  had  settled  ;  there  was  a  rude  dock  op- 
posite my  log  shanty  ;  a  store  and  warehouse 
beside  it,  a  few  barrels  and  hogsheads  on  the 
dock,  men  fishing  from  the  edge,  a  flat-boat  in 
the  distance,  —all  that  men  had  done,  primitive, 
rough ;  all  that  nature  had  done,  beautiful, 
boundless.  My  prospects  were  good.  All  I 
had  to  do  was  to  cook  my  own  pork  and  corn- 
meal,  and  invest  the  sum  and  substance  of  my 
fees  as  a  physician,  beyond  what  was  necessary 
to  purchase  these  necessary  articles,  in  real 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


105 


estate — the  land  which  lay  about  the  landing — 
I  the  town-lots  which  ran,  in  a  state  of  nature, 

I'  boldly  along  the  bank  of  the  stream  ;  all  I  had 
to  do  was  to  lay  hold,  by  hook  or  crook,  of  a 
goodly  number  of  these,  and  in  due  time,  say 
ten,  fifteen,  or  twenty  years,  my  fortune  would 
have  made  itself.    I  should  be  a  millionaire. 

II  sat  thinking  of  it.     The  more  I  thought  of 
it,  the  more  brilliant  appeared  my  future,  the 
more  gloomy  I  became.     There  was  one  thing 
!  which  was  making  life  intolerable  to  me.  The 
i  name,  chalked  in  red  chalk  upon  the  shingle 
l  beside  my  door,  was  not  my  own.    A  tragic 
;  destiny  had  driven  me  from  home  and  friends, 
!  and,  worst  of  all,  from  my  own  name.   In  a 
i  moment  of  weakness,  of  blinded  judgment,  I 
I  had  resolved  to  throw  away  what  had  only  been 
a  curse  to  me,  and  to  begin  my  new  life  under 
I  a  new  cognomen.    I  would  shake  off  every  as- 
|  sociation  which  belonged  to  Meredith  Place, 
i  So  I  had  come  among  these  people  under  a  false 
title.    What  of  that?   Had  I  not  the  right? 
"Who  was  wronged  by  my  doing  so  ?    I  would 
be  a  man  and  a  worker ;  I  would  fight  with 
fate  and  conquer  ;  would  become  rich  and  re- 
;  spected;  would  make  the  wilderness  blossom 
i  like  the  rose  ;  would  build  a  fine  home  in  place 
j  of  this  hut  of  logs ;  would  bring  a  sweet  wife 
to  it,  and  rear  fair  children.    Aye,  and  some 
jday,  perhaps  on  my  wedding-day,  or  when 
i  those  children  were  old  enough  to  wonder  at  it, 
!  some  hated  man  or  woman  of  that  old  home 
and  old  life  would  happen  along,  would  recog- 
jnize  me,  and  cry  out — "Why,  this  man  is  a 
pretender  and  a  liar !    I  know  him.    This  is 
I  not  Joseph  Pillmaker,  M.  D.,  but  Joe  Mere- 
:dith,  of  Hampton, who  murdered  his  uncle  and 
ran  away  with  his  gold  !" 

I  might  deny  the  murder  and  the  robbery  ; 
but  the  fact  of  the  false  name  would  be  fatal  to 
I  me.     Already  the  cloud  grew  and  darkened, 
casting  a  gloom  and  chill  over  my  new  sunshine. 
Already  I  started,  looking  up  nervously  when 
| strangers  suddenly  hailed  me.    And  this  thing 
would  grow  and  grow,  becoming  more  and 
jmore  unendurable  ;  and  I  would  acquire  the 
.  hang-dog  look  of  a  guilty  man,  or  the  bleached 
i  complexion  of  a  plant  that  lives  ever  in  the 
shadow.  There  would  be  no  relief, — time  would 
i  Ibut  make  the  disease  more  incurable — every 
i  (dollar  earned,  every  honor  gained,  would  but 
i  ;make  the  fall  heavier.  0,  what  a  fatal  mistake! 
i  0,  what  a  wretched  prospect !    Better  ' '  pull  up 
,  Istakes"  again,  as  the  rough  settlers  about  me 
I  |said  when  they  changed  their  local  habitation 
•  — better  pull  up  stakes  and  tramp  still  farther 
:  West,  and  when  I  found  a  stopping-place,  re- 
|  sume  my  own  name.    Less  danger  in  that  than 
I  the  other.    An  enemy  might  come  along  and 


say,  '  1  This  man  is  a  murderer,  who  fled  from  his 
native  place;"  but  I  could  make  my  honest 
defense,  or,  if  arrested,  stand  my  trial  and  fight 
for  my  rights.  I  should  breathe  easier  if  this 
were  done. 

I  felt,  too,  that  I  no  longer  run  any  great 
danger  of  arrest.  From  the  facts  which  I 
placed  in  Lillian's  hands  at  the  time  of  my  last 
visit,  she  must  exonerate  me  from  all  partici- 
pation in  the  crimes  which  had  wrecked  her 
prosperity.  Ah,  Lillian  !  What  sense  in  im- 
agining a  sweet  wife  and  fair  children,  when  I 
knew,  and  felt  more  truly  every  day,  that  the 
only  woman  I  loved  or  ever  could  love, 
was  this  dear  cousin,  from  whom  circumstances 
had  torn  me  ?  A  mad  longing  took  possession 
of  me  to  see  her,  hear  her  speak,  know  what 
was  happening  to  her.  Was  she  married  to 
her  noble  and  admirable  lover,  Don  Miguel  ? 
Was  she  happy  ?  Was  she  working  beyond  her 
strength  ?  I  had  to  fight  against  such  longings 
often  and  faithfully. 

While  I  sat,  thinking  and  dreaming,  the  lit- 
tle steamer,  whose  tri- weekly  visits  were  the 
event  of  the  season,  puffed  up  to  her  dock, 
and  the  storekeeper  went  out  for  the  mail-bag, 
and  the  idlers  and  business  men  gathered 
about  to  attend  to  the  discharge  of  cargo,  hear 
the  news,  and  take  part  in  the  small  excitements 
of  the  hour. 

I  did  not  stir.  Why  should  I  go  down  to 
the  boat?  Some  passing  traveler  might  recog- 
nize me,  should  I  do  so.  I  was  already  growing 
morbid,  you  see.  I  sat  there  gazing  gloomily 
at  the  cheerful  scene  in  which  other  men  were 
taking  an  active  part.  After  a  time  the  shoe- 
makercameup  from  the  store,  and,  as  he  passed, 
looked  in  with  a  neighborly  nod,  and  threw  me 
my  paper. 

"Thought  I'd  bring  it  along,  seem'  yon 
didn't  come  down  for't." 

"Thank  you, — much  obliged,"  and  he  con- 
tinued on  his  way,  while  I  eagerly  seized  upon 
the  only  reading  matter  which  I  could  com- 
mand in  that  far  region, — the  weekly  New  York 
paper  to  which  I  was  a  subscriber. 

I  read  it  to  the  last  item,  and  then  turned  to 
the  advertisements  for  amusement  and  instruc- 
tion. A  constant  reading  of  advertisements 
tends  to  the  general  improvement  of  the  read- 
er. I  passed  down  several  columns  until  I 
came  to  "To  whom  it  may  concern."  It  con- 
cerned me,  as  I  discovered,  with  flushing  cheek 
and  a  pulse  which  rose  like  that  of  a  fever-pa- 
tient, as  the  letters  danced  and  glimmered  be- 
fore my  vision  : 

"If  this  meets  the  eye  of  Joseph  M.,  who  left 
Hampton  village  in  March  last,  he  is  begged  to  come 
home  immediately,  by  his  cousin,  L.  M.  Circumstances 
have  occurred  which  make  it  important  for  him  to 


108 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


do  so,  and  lie  is  assured  that  Ms  return  will  be  to  his 
own  best  interests.  Lillian." 

There  was  that  sweetest  name,  so  sacred,  so 
dear  to  me.  Doubtless  she  had  signed  it,  in- 
stead of  an  initial,  not  only  as  a  peace-offering, 
but  as  being  more  likely  to  arrest  my  attention. 

"Circumstances  had  occurred."  In  vain  to 
question  myself,  and  to  grow  dizzy  with  con- 
jecture. I  could  only  know  by  answering  the 
advertisement  in  person, — and  that  would  take 
ten,  twelve  days — and  I  must  wait  until  the 
return  of  that  fussy  little  steamer  from  the 
ports  above  at  noon  to-morrow,  before  I  could 
make  a  beginning.  And  then,  there  was  my 
business  to  settle  up !  This  consisted  of  col- 
lecting my  fees  for  some  twenty  or  thirty  visits, 
paying  up  the  two  months  rent  due  on  my  office, 
selling  out  my  stock-in-trade  to  ' '  the  other  doc- 
tor," who  would  jump  at  the  chance  of  getting 
my  office-chair,  saddle-bags,  and  medicine-chest. 

In  all,  I  hoped  to  realize  about  forty  dollars, 
which  would  pay  my  way  to  Hampton,  and 

then  ?  a  blank.     What  would  be  filled  in 

that  dreary  blank  I  dared  not  imagine, — I, 
who  was  naturally  so  hopeful ;  but  who  felt 
that  disappointment,  now,  would  be  so  unbear- 
able. 

I  had  tough  work  compelling  the  settlers  to 
pay  cash  for  doctor's  bills, —  they  expected 
ftime,  and  to  pay  in  grain,  lumber,  and  town- 
lots,  but  I  was  imperative.  I  had  been  sent  for 
to  go  home,  and  a  man  could  not,  travel  on 
town-lots.  By  dint  of  argument  like  this,  I 
had  worked  my  way  through  the  settlement, 
and  back  to  the  little  wharf,  by  the  time  the 
steamer  arrived  on  her  return  trip,  and  with  a 
little  of  the  hard-earned  contents  of  my  wallet, 
I  bought  my  ticket,  waved  my  hat  good-bye  to 
the  storekeeper,  the  shoemaker,  and  "  the  oth- 
er doctor,"  as  well  as  to  the  storekeeper's  pret- 
ty daughter,  who  had  come  down  to  the  win- 
dow of  the  warehouse  which  overlooked  the 
water,  with  very  red  eyes,  to  say  farewell.  My 
conscience  was  clear  as  to  never  having  given 
reason  for  those  tears,  which  were  probably  due 
to  the  fact  that  I  was  the  only  marriageable 
young  man  in  Podunk. 

I  had  a  wearisome  time  upon  that  ten  days 
journey,  my  heart  flying  forward  in  advance  of 
the  crawling  boat  and  train,  onlv  to  come  back 
wearied  with  the  vain  effort  to  satisfy  itself  be- 
fore the  day  and  hour  appointed. 

In  the  crisp  and  frosty  twilight  of  an  autumn 
day  I  stepped  out  of  the  cars  at  Hampton  sta- 
tion. I  was  glad  that  the  growing  darkness 
hid  my  identity  from  the  prying  eyes  of  the 
loungers  about  the  place.  I  would  not  even 
question  the  station-master  as  to  the  residence 
of  Miss  Meredith,  preferring  to  seek  it  for  my- 


self. Two  thoughts  were  throbbing  in  my  heart 
as  I  strode  along  the  quiet  streets, — like  the 
ticking  of  a  pendulum  in  my  ears  they  swung — ■ 
"my  cousin  Lillian!  the  figure  eight!"  "my 
cousin  Lillian  !  the  figure  eight !" 

"Was  the  mystery  unvailed  ? — how  fared  she 
whom  I  loved  ?  But  why  pause  for  such  ques- 
tioning, when  here,  at  last,  was  the  little  gate, 
the  modest  walk,  leading  up  to  the  white  cot- 
tage, and  I  had  but  to  knock,  enter,  and  learn 
all? 

You  all  know  what  it  is  to  hesitate  on  the 
brink  of  certainty.  The  shade  had  not  been 
dropped  over  the  front  window  of  the  small 
parlor.  I  shall  be  pardoned  when  I  confess 
that  once  more  I  acted  the  part  of  spy,  so  far  as 
to  glance  within  before  venturing  so  much. 
There  was  no  light  in  the  room,  except  the  glow 
of  an  open  fire,  which  the  chill  of  the  autumn 
evening  made  particularly  pleasant.  She  was 
there — no  one  else.  She  sat  in  her  little  rocker 
beside  the  hearth,  her  eyes  watching  the  castles 
rising  and  falling  in  the  coals,  her  cheek  flushed 
with  the  heat  and  rosy  light  of  the  fire,  her 
hair  glittering  in  waves  of  gold  and  brown, — 
the  somber  black  dress  making  her  fairness  and 
youth  all  the  more  apparent.  She  could  not  be 
married  to  Don  Miguel,  or  she  would  not  be 
here  alone,  and  dressed  in  mourning ! 

Silently  I  opened  the  entry-door,  softly  I 
stepped  forward  into  the  rosily  dim  room : 

"  You  called  me,  cousin  Lillian,  and  here  I 
am." 

She  turned,  with  a  little  cry,  and  when  she 
saw  me  standing  there,  did  not  stir  or  speak  for 
a  long  minute. 

"  You  sent  for  me,  Lily  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did.  Oh  Joe,  I  am  so  glad  you  have 
come." 

"  You  don't  appear  very  glad." 

She  arose,  holding  out  her  hand. 

"You  astonished  me  so  much,"  she  said,  and 
then  I  saw  that  she  was  quite  pale,  but  as  I 
pressed  her  hand  the  color  came  back  to  her 
face — neither  of  us  knew  just  what  to  say. 

"  Oh  cousin,"  began  Lily  a  second  time,  but 
broke  down  and  began  to  sob. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  I  asked,  gently;  I  wished  to 
draw  the  fair  head  to  my  shoulder,  to  kiss  away 
the  tears,  but  I  had  no  right, — I  should  not 
have  done  it  with  a  cousin's  love,  and  slu 
looked  upon  me  only  with  that  affection. 

"It  is  all  discovered,"  she  exclaimed — "I 
have  so  much  to  tell  you. ' ' 

"  The  figure  eight  ?" 

"Oh  no,  not  that.  I  expect  I  must  teach 
school  forever,  Joe.  But  that  is  nothing.  Did 
you  know  that  Arthur  Miller  was  dead  ?" 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


107 


"I  know  nothing  of  what  has  happened 
since  I  wrote  that  letter." 

11  Sit  down,  Joe;  I  will  tell  you  all." 

She  drew  a  chair  beside  her  own.  She  did 
not  think  to  ask  if  I  were  hungry  or  thirsty,  or 
to  light  the  lamps.  What  was  in  her  heart 
found  Toice,  and  I,  in  listening,  was  uncon- 
scious of  anything  but  the  strange,  surprising 
story.  My  cry  of  horror  when  she  came  to  the 
supper-table  scene  caused  her  to  ask — 

"Did  you,  then,  never  suspect  her  during  all 
your  watchfulness  ?" 

' '  I  did  and  did  not.  I  could  not  help  it,  and 
still  I  fought  against  the  evidence  of  my  own 
senses."  And  then  I  told  her  how  I  had  seen 
Inez  meet  Arthur  at  the  gate  that  stormy  sum- 
mer night,  and  the  shock  I  had  experienced  to 
realize  that  she 

*f  or  ere  these  shoes  were  old, 
With  which  she  followed  my  poor  (uncle's)  body," 

was  carrying  on  a  flirtation  with  this  gay  young 
man.  I  told  her  of  the  love-philters,  of  my 
own  suspicions  of  Miss  Miller  from  the  first  day. 

"  Poor  Annie,"  sighed  Lillian;  "you  were  as 
unjust  to  her  as  others  were  to  you.  Her  worst 
fault  was  to  love  my  father — to  expect  to  be- 
come his  wife.  She  is  arrogant,  I  know;  ambi- 
tious, I  know;  suspicious  of  others,  because  her 
life  of  self-dependence  has  made  her  so  ;  she 
did  no:  like  you,  cousin  Joe.  She  did  wish  her 
brother  to  marry  me,  and  after  she  had  discov- 
ered his  guilt,  she  could  not  at  once  denounce 
him.  But  I  love  her — she  is  my  best  friend — 
my  second  mother, — and  oh,  Joe,  she  has  suf- 
fered so  much  and  changed  so  much  you  would 
hardly  recognize  her." 

"I  am  sure  she  has  my  full  forgiveness  for 
any  ill-will  she  has  cherished  towards  me." 

"She  regrets  it  now,"  said  Lily,  softly. 

I  told  her.  too,  about  the  handkerchief  and 
key.  She  informed  me  that  Miss  Miller  had 
picked  up  the  key  from  the  floor  of  the  upper 
hall  where  some  one  had  dropped  it,  and 
thought  it  best  to  say  nothing  about  it,  while 
making  every  effort  to  discover  the  box  or  the 
loser  of  the  key.  As  to  the  handkerchief,  she 
had  gone,  almost  as  quickly  as  the  nature  of 
Dr.  Meredith's  death  was  revealed,  to  the  la- 
boratory to  examine  for  herself  the  shelf  with 
which  she  was  nearly  as  familiar  as  the  doctor 
had  been.  There  was  a  drop  of  acid  on  the  out- 
side of  the  bottle,  which  she  had  wiped  off  with 
her  handkerchief,  which  she  afterwards  dropped; 
but,  being  unable  to  recover  it,  said  but  little 
about  it,  knowing  how  liable  all  were  to  suspi- 
cion upon  the  smallest  evidence,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. Her  reason  for  never  betraying 
her  knowledge  that  Inez  had  carried  the  wine 
to  the  doctor,  was  her  reluctance  to  involve  the 


I  young  wife  in  danger,  unless  she  was  actually 
j  guilty  of  his  death,  and  upon  this  point  her 
j  convictions  changed  and  wavered.  In  the  first 
!  place,  she  esteemed  it  incredible  that  Inez 
]  could  execute  so  daring  a  deed,  even  if  capable 
j  otherwise  of  the  crime;  and  as,  by  watching 
I  and  observation  of  the  strictest  kind,  she  satis- 
!  fied  herself  that  Mrs.  Meredith  kuew  nothing  of 
the  missing  box,  she  persuaded  herself  either 
that  the  doctor,  learning  something  perhaps 
very  bad  with  regard  to  his  wife,  had  commit- 
ted suicide,  or  that  I,  or  some  other  enemy,  for 
some  unknown  purpose,  had  contrived  his  death 
for  plunder  or  revenge. 

When  she  found  that  Inez  was  going  to  Gram'- 
me  Hooker's  for  love- powders,  and  that  she 
was  foolishly  infatuated  with  Arthur,  a  com- 
prehension began  to  dawn  on  her,  of  the  mingled 
folly,  ignorance,  and  superstition  to  which 
the  husband  had  fallen  a  victim.  Still,  she 
would  not  denounce  her,  without  further 
proof,  especially  at  the  critical  time  when  Ar- 
thur had  become  involved  in  the  robbery;  but 
after  his  cruelly  sudden  death,  she  would  have 
made  known  all  she  suspected  or  had  over- 
heard, in  order  to  clear  his  memory  from  the 
stain  of  murder.  Illness  prevented  this  being 
done  on  the  instant ;  meantime,  it  worked  on 
her  sick  fancy,  until  it  came  about  that  she  did, 
in  her  somnambulic  condition,  what  she  had 
intended,  with  more  effectiveness  than  she 
could  have  done  it  waking.  Inez'  guilty  con- 
science could  not  withstand  the  soul-glance  of 
the  sleeper,  and  she  fell. 

"Since  then,"  Lillian  concluded,  "Annie 
has  been  slowly  recovering  from  the  exhausting 
effects  of  all  this  excitement.  The  people  show 
her  every  attention  ;  feeling  that  her  brother's 
death  was  too  great  a  punishment  for  his  sin, 
they  try  atone  to  her  as  far  as  possible  by 
lavishing  kindness  upon  her.  She  stays  with 
me ;  and  has  been  almost  well  to-day.  She 
just  retired  to  her  room  before  you  came.  And 
now,"  with  a  smile,  "I  believe  the  good  vil- 
lagers are  only  anxious  to  atone  to  you  for  their 
persecutions.  I've  no  doubt  they  will  make 
Hampton  a  very  agreeable  place  to  you." 

"It  may  be,"  I  said  ;  "  but  it  will  take  more 
resolution  than  I  possess  to  enable  me  to  stay 
here." 

"Why,"  she  queried,  innocently; — I 
thought,  too,  she  looked  disappointed. 

"Are  you  teaching?"  I  asked,  answering 
her  question  with  another. 

1 '  Oh,  yes.  We  are  doing  very  nicely,  too. 
When  Miss  Miller  gets  able  to  take  her  share 
of  the  responsibility,  all  will  be  well ;  I  would 
not  be  idle  for  anything," — sadly. 

"Did  the  shocking  discovery  of  Inez'  guilt 


108 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


break  off  the  match  between  you  and  Don  Mig- 
uel?" I  asked,  presently,  trying  very  hard  to 
make  my  voice  natural  and  careless,  but  jerking 
out  the  words  with  a  ridiculous  hoarseness. 

She  looked  into  mine  with  those  blue,  beau- 
tiful eyes — 

"  We  were  never  engaged.  He  is  a  good 
man,  though  ;  and  I  hope  he  will  come  back  to 
New  York  and  marry  Sophie.  She  loves  him, 
and  I  could  not." 

"Why?"  I  asked  bluntly;  "he  had  every 
quality  to  render  you  happy.  You  will  never 
have  another  such  a  chance,  Lily." 

"  Well,  I  am  in  no  haste  to  marry." 

She  ^aid  this  with  great  dignity,  lifting  the 
proud  little  head,  and  darting  a  glance  of  fire 
at  me  ;  but  the  next  moment  her  lip  trembled, 
and  she  turned  towards  the  hearth  to  hide  her 
face  from  me. 

I  never  knew  whether  it  was  the  flash  of 
pride,  or  the  tremble  of  her  lips,  which  be- 
trayed her  secret  to  me.  I  only  asseverate  that 
I  never  before  had  suspected  it, — no,  not  once. 

Now,  I  saw  it  plainly,  all  of  a  sweet,  blinding 
sudden.  The  blood  rushed  hotly  to  my  cheeks, 
warm  tears  rose  and  dimmed  my  eyes  ;  I  took 
no  thought  of  what  I  did  or  said,  but  leaned 
forward,  crying — "  Lily  !  Lily  !" 

She  turned  to  me,  reading  all  the  meaning: 
in  my  voice,  and  not  daring  to  look  up,  said 
archly  : 

"  Cousin  Joe,  there  are  none  so  blind  as  those 
who  will  not  see." 

"Darling  Lily,"  I  answered,  leaping  from 
my  chair,  and  dragging  her  up  too,  for  I  had 
seized  her  hand,  ' '  if  you  really  mean  that,  put 
your  arms  about  me  this  moment,  look  me  in 
the  eyes,  and  say  it  again."  Of  course  the  shy 
child  wouldn't  put  her  arms  about  such  a  bear 
as  I  had  grown,  but  she  looked  in  my  eyes, 
after  a  time,  and  I  saw  into  her  soul,  as  into  a 
well,  and  myself  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

And  how  long  we  might  have  stood  there  in 
a  heavenly  rapture  such  as  is  only  allowed  us 
once  on  earth,  I  know  not.  Moments  fled  into 
a  sweet,  swift  hour, — and  then  the  old  house- 
keeper came  in  with,  a  lamp,  and  I  dropped 
Lily's  nestling  hand,  trying  to  look  like  a 
stranger  and  a  traveler,  instead  of  an  angel 
just  out  of  Paradise. 

"My  sakes,  so  your  cousin's  come,  has  he? 
I'm  right  glad  on't,  for  you've  nigh  about 
looked  your  eyes  out.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me,  Miss  Lily,  so's  I  might  be  makin'  a  cup  o' 
tea.  Railway  travelers  is  mostly  beat  out  at 
the  end  o'  their  journey. 

"Time  enough  yet,"  I  answered,  gayly, — 
and  Biddy  made  the  tea,  and  Lillian  went  with 
me  to  the  dining-room  and  poured  it  out  for 


me,  and  I  sipped  I  knew  not  what  of  ambrosia, 
the  drink  of  the  gods,  while  her  eyes  lighted  the 
table,  and  her  sweet  face  beamed  on  me  as  I 
felt  that  it  was  evermore  to  beam : — blessed  be 
His  name  who  made  my  Lily  to  bloom,  and  me 
to  gather  its  sweetness. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    FIGURE  EIGHT. 

It  was  on  one  of  the  sweetest  and  last  of  May 
days  that  I  walked  with  Lillian,  arm-in-arm, 
towards  Meredith  Place — Lillian  Meredith  still, 
but  Lillian,  my  wife !  Aye,  that  morning  we 
had  gone  to  the  village  church  and  been  made 
one  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  township,  all 
wishing  us  joy  as  heartily  as  ever  bride  and 
groom  were  wished  it,  and  with  a  sort  of  affec- 
tionate enthusiasm,  too  ;  for  that  reaction  of 
which  I  have  spoken  had  set  in,  in  my  favor, 
from  the  moment  it  was  known  that  I  had  re- 
turned to  Hampton.  Everybody  had  sought 
to  atone  for  the  bad  things  he  or  she  had  said 
about  me  ;  and  it  being  found,  on  trial,  that  I 
was  really  a  thoroughly-bred  physician,  no  soon- 
er did  I  choose  my  office  and  put  my  name  on  the 
door,  than  old  ladies  began  to  consult  me  about 
their  neuralgias,  and  young  mothers  about 
their  teeth-cutting  babies,  and  I  grew,  in  an 
incredibly  short  space  of  time,  (owing  to  alack 
of  competition  and  the  grand  law  of  compensa- 
tions), into  that  envied  and  enviable  being,  the 
popular  young  doctor. 

Then  Hampton  took  a  start  to  grow  about 
that  time,  the  influx  of  strangers  the  previous 
summer  proving  greatly  to  its  advantage,  as 
calling  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  was  one  of 
the  most  charming  spots  outside  of  New  York. 

All  the  new  comers,  having  first  heard  the 
interesting  history  of  the  young  doctor,  were 
drawn  by  curiosity  and  the  example  of  others, 
to  patronize  him  ;  and  thus  it  came  about  that 
before  the  first  winter  was  over  I  found  myself 
in  a  position  not  only  to  take  care  of  myself, 
but  to  support  a  wife.  Happy  and  envied  fellow, 
I  may  well  say. 

Lily's  school  had  also  flourished  like  a  green 
bay  tree,  and  the  only  regret  felt  by  the  villag- 
ers at  the  announcement  of  our  intended  mar- 
riage, was  that  she  would  relinquish  it.  When 
assured  that  Miss  Miller  had  purchased  her  in- 
terest, and  would  carry  the  school  forward  in 
its  plans  of  advancement,  they  were  well  satis- 
tied.  This  was  Miss  Miller's  own  doing.  We 
had  pleaded  and  argued  with  her  to  induce  her 
to  come  to  our  home,  and  share  our  cares  and 
pleasures  through  life,  but  she  thought  she  saw 
her  future  marked  out  for  her  in  the  school, 
and  told  us  lovingly,  but  with  that  firmness  of 
hers  which  sometimes  looked  like  hardness,  that 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


109 


we  should  see  enough,  of  her  if  our  homes  were 
half  a  mile  apart. 

I  have  boasted  my  own  popularity,  as  it  seem- 
ed needless  to  mention  that  Lily, — who  had 
always,  from  a  child,  when  she  first  rode  out  in 
the  carriage  with  her  mother,  been  an  object  of 
admiration  and  delight  to  Hampton,  and  whose 
strange,  sad  experiences  for  the  last  two  years, 
had  touched  and  won  all  hearts — it  seemed 
needless  to  mention  that  she  had  the  tearful 
congratulations  of  all. 

Because  she  was  my  bride,  need  I  hesitate  in 
saying  that  she  was  the  fairest,  and  the  purest, 
and  the  best  who  ever  stood  in  that  old  church 
to  receive  the  marriage  benediction  ? 

0,  what  a  day  that  had  been  !  the  crown  of 
life  ! — and  now  we  were  walking  arm-in-arm,  as 
simply  as  two  children,  towards  our  home,  which 
our  good  old  housekeeper  had  all  in  order  for 
us,  and  where  the  simple  feast  of  the  evening 
was  spread,  awaiting  our  arrival.  For  we  had 
repurchased  Meredith  Place,  and  it  was  to  be 
ours,  should  success  still  wait  on  our  efforts. 
"With  the  thousand  dollars  which  I  had  sent  her 
that  night  from  the  laboratory  when  I  laid  in 
wait  for  the  coiner,  and  by  the  sale  of  the  brace- 
let and  other  trinkets  which  Bertha  Chateau- 
briand had  returned  to  her  as  the  true  owner, 
Lily  had  been  able  to  make  a  payment  down  of 
(two  thousand  dollars,  and  the  owner  was  will- 
;  ing  to  receive  the  rest  in  two  and  three  years, 
:  knowing  that  my  profession  was  lucrative,  and 
there  was  no  risk  in  mortgages. 

Thus  the  dear  old  place  promised  to  be  kept 
in  the  family,  to  future  generations  I  hoped, 
though  I  had  not  said  so  as  yet  to  the  happy 
girl  who  clung  to  my  arm,  looking  with  eager 
glance  forward  on  the  flowery  road.  For  once 
again,  as  on  that  lovely  day  when  the  apple- 
blossoms  showered  down  on  the  old  stage-coach 
which  held  her  father  and  his  bride,  the  last  of 
the  apple-blossoms  dropped  about  our  feet,  and 
the  first  of  the  roses  swung  their  offerings  of 
perfume  before  the  bride,  turning  sweet  faces  of 
pink  and  white,  which  were  not  more  fresh  nor 
fair  than  her  own. 

Boldly,  out  of  the  trees  and  verdure  of  Mere- 
dith Place,  arose  the  square  gray  tower,  warm- 
ed with  the  rich,  dark  green  of  its  glistening 
ivy.  As  we  approached  it,  it  happened  that  we 
saw  first  that  side  of  the  tower  which  fronted 
on  the  roof  of  the  house,  and  looked  towards 
the  north.  Certainly  I  know  not  how  I  chan  ced 
to  observe  it,  and  to  think  of  it,  now,  for  the 
first  time  out  of  all  the  thousands  in  which  I 
had  looked  on  it,  but  it  flashed  into  my  mind, 
and  I  spoke  out  to  Lillian  : 

' '  There  are  two  windows  on  the  north  side 
of  the  tower." 


* 1  Certainly,  Joe  ;  is  that  new  to  you  V ' 

"I  never  thought  of  it  before." 

"  There  are  no  real  windows  there,  of  course  ; 
for,  if  you  remember,  in  the  tower  room  there 
are  but  six,  two  on  the  east,  south,  and  west. 
These  must  be  imitated  for  symmetry." 

1 '  Of  course.  How  would  the  wall  look,  un- 
relieved by  any  break?"  I  said,  carelessly;  but 
still  a  thought  had  entered  my  mind,  which 
caused  the  blood  to  rush  to  my  face,  and  gave 
me,  I  fear,  for  a  few  minutes,  an  air  of  pre- 
occupation not  flattering  to  the  new-made  wife. 

These  double  windows  were  long  and  nar- 
row, softened  by  shutters  painted  only  a  shade 
lighter  than  the  gray-stone ;  and  over  the  shut- 
ters on  the  north  side,  which,  being  made  to 
cover  false  windows,  were,  of  course,  never  open- 
ed, the  ivy  had  clambered  until  they  were 
nearly  concealed.  As  I  say,  I  never  could  ac- 
count for  their  having  so  particularly  drawn 
my  attention  at  that  time,  of  all  others,  when 
one  would  have  supposed  the  fair  woman  by 
my  side  would  have  engrossed  soul  and  sense. 

"How  lovely  the  world  is,  Lillian,"  I  said, 
presently  ;  ' '  this  day  was  made  for  lovers  to 
wed  in.  How  beautiful  Meredith  Place  looks. 
I  never  saw  it  so  perfect  in  all  its  aspects.  The 
lawn  is  like  velvet,  the  distant  woods  are  man- 
tled in  the  delicate  green  of  half-expanded 
leaves.  It  will  not  be  the  tea-hour  yet  for 
some  time.  After  we  have  looked  through  the 
lower  rooms  and  complimented  Biddy  on  their 
appointments,  why  not  ascend  to  the  tower  and 
spend  a  half-hour?  I  suppose  it  is  just  as 
Mademoiselle  Sophie  left  it." 

"I  should  like  it,  of  all  things,"  responded 
Lily  ;  and  so  we  wandered  on. 

Once  safely  inside  the  gates,  we  went  hand-in- 
hand  instead  of  arm-in-arm,  stopping  to  pull  a 
rose  here  and  a  violet  there,  on  to  the  pleasant, 
spacious  portico,  where  the  vines  were  weaving 
light  shadows,  through  the  open,  breezy  hall,  the 
parlors,  newly  garnished,  and  with  windows  open 
and  curtains  looped  with  flowers,  up  the  wide 
staircase,  through  the  perfumed  chambers,  on, 
to  the  narrow  passage  and  stairs  leading  up  to 
the  tower.  We  climbed  the  steep  steps  bravely, 
for  we  knew  the  reward  which  awaited  us. 

0,  Beautiful !  When  I  threw  wide  the 
closed  shutters  and  pushed  back  the  sash, 
what  a  world  of  loveliness  lay  beneath  us ! 
The  glimmering,  winding  brook,  the  level 
pastures,  the  glorious  woods,  the  pleasant 
gardens  and  lawns,  the  distant  hills  !  And 
here  we  were,  alone,  together,  wedded,  stand- 
ing, as  it  were,  between  heaven  and  earth, 
the  blue  ether  around  us,  the  holy  heaven 
above,  the  fair  landscape  beneath. 

"Lily,  are  we  in  heaven  or  on  earth?" 


110 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


I  pressed  her  close  to  my  side  ;  her  bright 
head  lay  on  my  shoulder,  and  in  that  hour  of 
fruition  I  felt  that  all  I  had  suffered  since  the 
hour  of  my  birth  was  compensated  for. 

Presently  we  sat  down  on  the  chintz-covered 
lounge  which  Sophie  had  placed  in  the  little 
room  for  her  comfort.  The  thought  which 
had  occurred  to  me  on  the  road  returned  with  a 
power  which  held  my  heart  still  a  moment, 
only  to  send  it  bounding  wildly  when  it  re- 
gained its  freedom.  I  looked  around  upon  the 
windows, — the  carpenters,  in  fitting  them,  not 
supposing  any  particular  finish  would  be  required 
in  this  tower-room,  had  left  their  chalk  figures 
boldly  on  the  unpainted  walnut  wood.  The  case- 
ments were  numbered,  one,  two,  etc.,  up  to 
six.  I  looked  at  the  Wank  wall  at  the  north; 
— there  hung  the  map  of  the  first  survey  of 
Meredith  Place.  A  sort  of  phrensy  or  inspira- 
tion seized  me.  I  sprang  and  tore  it  from  its 
place,  flinging  it  to  the  floor.  Lily  gave  a  cry; — 
no  wonder.  Two  little  recesses  or  cupboards, 
with  doors,  and  numbered  seven  and  eight,  ap- 
peared in  what  it  had  been  taken  for  granted 
was  solid  wall.  I  pulled  open  the  door  num- 
bered eight. 

There  stood  the  curious,  iron-bound  box, 
with  the  steel  rivets !  The  unnatural  tension  to 
which,  even  in  my  happiest  moments,  my 
mind  had  been  strained  for  almost  two  years, 
gave  way,  and  I  staggered  and  sank  back  upon 
the  lounge.  I  was  far  more  disturbed  than 
Lillian, — perhaps  because  I  had  made  the  un- 
raveling of  the  mystery  of  the  figure  eight  the 
object  of  my  life. 

I  lay  there  so  cold  and  stupefied  that  Lily 
was  alarmed,  and  was  about  to  descend  and 
call  the  housekeeper.  I  motioned  her  back. 
She  sat  and  held  my  hand,  waiting  for  me 
to  recover  my  composure.  Suddenly  a  burst  of 
glory  from  the  setting  sun  filled  the  tower- 
room  with  a  piercing  radiance. 

"Be  comforted,  be  calm,  dear  Joe;  there  is 
the  good  omen  of  our  future." 

In  truth,  I  had  no  cause  for  anything  but  re- 
joicing ! — only,  the  sudden  revelation  over- 
powered me. 

When  my  strength  returned  I  lifted  down 
the  box,  which,  now  that  it  was  partially  emp- 
ty, I  could  just  manage  to  do.  The  doctor,  in 
placing  it  there,  must  have  made  more  than 
one  journey  up  and  down  those  steep  stairs. 

"  There  is  treasure  enough  here,  still,"  I  said, 

to  last  us  a  lifetime." 

"Oh,  my  poor  father!"  cried  Lily,  as  she 
saw  the  gold. 

We  both  recalled  that  happy  night  when  he 
had  shown  us  the  result  of  his  hard  work  in 
California.     I  did  not  chide  my  darling  for 


weeping  long  and  sadly  ;  I  only  felt  happy  to 
know  that  I  was  permitted  to  soothe  and  cherish 
her.  After  a  time,  she  started  up  and  wiped 
away  her  tears. 

"I must  look  in  those  little  cupboards,"  she 
said;  "I  remember  them,  now.  Look,  Joe,  at 
this  and  this, — these  were  made  by  my  father 
when  he  was  a  boy.  He  used  to  keep  his  pen- 
cils and  drawings  here,  and  his  tools.  This 
was  his  workshop.  He  often  told  me,  when  I 
was  a  little  girl,  about  the  happy  hours  he 
spent  in  the  tower ;  but  I  never  saw  these 
shelves,  for  the  map  was  hung  here,  for  safe 
keeping,  before  I  could  remember.  Dear  papa! 
here's  the  very  broken  jack-knife  and  the  little 
saw  and  the  file — and  this  toy-table  I  dare  say 
he  whittled  out  with  this  knife,"  and  she  wept 
afresh,  but  now  softly. 

It  did  seem  most  marvelous  that  neither 
Sophie,  in  her  renovations,  nor  Lillian  or  Miss 
Miller,  in  their  investigations,  had  chanced  to 
push  aside  that  yellow  old  map.  But  thus  it 
had  been.  It  hung  there,  apparently,  on  the 
blank  wall,  and,  further  than  a  dusting  at  the 
hands  of  Sophie's  servant,  had  never  been  dis- 
turbed. 

We  heard  the  old  housekeeper  calling  us 
down  to  the  little  feast  she  had  prepared,  and 
which  we  were  to  enjoy,  alone,  together.  Lillian's 
afflictions  had  been  such  that  no  one  expected 
a  merry-making  at  her  wedding,  and  after  the 
ceremony  at  the  church,  and  cake  and  wine  | 
at  the  cottage,  we  had  been  left  to  take  pos- 
session of  our  home  in  quiet. 

We  locked  the  door  leading  up  to  the  tower,  ! 
locking  up  with  it,  as  far  as  possible,  all  excit- 
ing memories  of  our  discovery.    We  wished  to 
think  only  of  each  other  during  this,  our  first 
home-feast,  to  which  not  even  our  honored  and  j 
loved  friend,  Miss  Miller,  would  consent  to  be  ; 
present. 

The  next  day  we  sent  for  her,  and  together  t 
we  went  up,  and  counted  the  contents  of  the  jts 
precious  box,  ascertaining  that  not  over  a  f 
third  of  the  gold  had  been  abstracted.  It  was  i 
a  terrible  duty  to  the  sister  of  the  dead  robber,  k 
but  she  went  through  with  it  bravely. 

I  thought  much,  for  some  time  thereafter,  t 
upon  the  probable  manner  in  which  Arthur  had 
discovered  the  box.  It  was  hardly  credible 
that  he  could  have  been  in  the  house  at  the 
time,  and  followed  the  Doctor  to  the  tower  ;  it 
must  have  been,  that,  walking  along  the  road, 
his  attention  was  attracted  by  the  glimmering 
of  a  light  in  the  tower,  which  would  naturally 
excite  his  curiosity ;  also,  one  or  more  of  the 
windows  may  have  been  open,  enabling  him  to 
make  out  some  of  the  movements  of  the  master 
of  the  house,  perhaps  to  see  the  map  removed 


THE  FIGURE  EIGHT. 


Ill 


and  replaced.  He  may  have  thought  nothing ' 
of  it  until  after  the  mysterious  death  of  Doc- 
tor Meredith,  and  the  excitement  over  the  miss- 
ing gold.  Then,  he  had  at  once  the  key  to  the 
hiding-place.  Yielding  to  temptation,  instead 
of  making  his  knowledge  public,  he  kept  it  for 
his  own  benefit — doubtless,  (for  ''hell  is  paved 
■with  good  intentions")  excusing  himself  with 
the  resolution  to  marry  one  or  the  other  of  the 
rightful  owners,  and  thus,  in  a  manner,  flatter 
himself  that  he  was  not  really  a  robber.  Lillian 
refused  him.  Saying  nothing  about  his  hav- 
ing offered  himself  to  her,  he.  then  turned  his 
attentions  to  Inez,  who  was  only  too  eager 
to  accept  them.  For  a  time  he  fully  intended 
to  marry  her  ;  but  the  temptation  of  Bertha's 
family  and  fortune  were  too  powerful  for  one  of 
his  weak  principles  to  resist. 

The  investigations  of  the  authorities  were  so 
searching  that  he  had  never  ventured  to  convey 
away  the  box,  nor  the  bullion  in  the  bars  in 
which  he  found  it.  If  it  should  become  known 
that  he  sold  ingots,  or  was  seen  with  them  in 
his  possession,  suspicion  would  at  once  settle 
upon  him.  He  had  the  caution  which  would 
have  made  a  very  successful  scoundrel.  With 
much  difficulty  he  succeeded  in  obtaining  the 
dies,  and  thereafter  took  advantage  of  the  ex- 
istence of  the  laboratory  to  coin  money  as  he 
had  opportunity,  and  of  carrying  it  away  with 
him  in  small  quantities. 

Miss  Miller,  whose  determination  to  sift  the 
matter  had  been  as  fixed  as  mine,  learned 
enough  to  suspect  her  own  brother,  and  was 
upon  his  track,  though  still  not  positive  of  his 
guilt,  the  night  in  which  I  broke  her  arm.  How 
Inez  also  detected  him,  we  never  knew,  but  sup- 
posed that  her  burning  jealousy  had  prompted 
her  to  an  observation  of  his  movements,  which 
led  to  a  discovery  which  she  herself  did  not  ex- 
pect. Whether  she  or  he  had  been  cognizant 
of  the  somnambulist's  visit,  at  the  time  she 
,  carried  the  ingots  to  her  room,  and  had  after- 
wards entered  and  taken  them  from  the  bureau, 
was  never  definitely  ascertained,  but  his  sister 
inclined  to  the  belief  that  it  was  Arthur. 

The  reader  will  easily  infer  that  the  posses- 
sion of  the  box  made  still  more  sure  our  worldly 


prosperity  ;  the  claims  were  swept  from  Mere- 
dith Place,  the  world  smiled,  and  we,  being 
happy  in  our  own  hearts,  had  not  a  cloud  in 
our  heaven,  save  the  memory  of  our  dear  fath- 
er's untimely  death. 

The  following  winter  we  received  cards  for 
the  wedding  of  Sophie  and  Don  Miguel.  Lil- 
lian could  not  think  of  attending;  the  dark  tra- 
gedies of  the  past  were  yet  too  recent  to  be  thus 
vividly  recalled  ;  but  I  took  the  opportunity  to 
see  the  Don,  not  only  to  show  him  that  we 
bore  him  no  ill-will  on  account  of  his  in- 
famous cousin,  but  to  acquaint  him  with  the  fact 
that  such  portion  of  the  recovered  property  as 
belonged  to  her  by  law,  he  could  claim  in  her 
name  if  he  saw  fit. 

He  bade  us  keep  what  was  ours,  by  every 
right,  merely  saying  that  Inez  had  escaped  from 
her  convent  and  married  an  unfortunate  sugar- 
planter,  whose  safety  he,  Don  Miguel,  had  in- 
sured by  a  quiet  threat  to  the  wife  to  be  pru- 
dent if  she  did  not  wish  to  draw  down  the  ven- 
geance of  her  relatives  upon  her  head.  How 
far  that  beautiful  and  unprincipled  woman  may 
have  been  a  murderer  at  heart,  her  Maker  only 
knows.  We,  who  suffered  most  by  her,  always 
believed  that  she  had  no  intention  of  killing 
her  husband — at  least  not  so  suddenly — but  was 
trying  these  same  arts  upon  him  which  she  af- 
terwards tried  upon  Arthur  Miller — not,  how- 
ever, to  enchant,  but  to  disenchant  him.  "We 
never  sought  or  heard  tidings  of  her,  after  my 
interview  with  her  cousin  at  the  time  of  his 
marriage. 

Don  Miguel  appeared  so  happy,  and  so  well- 
mated  with  his  pretty  and  stylish  wife,  that  if 
my  dear  Lily  had  a  shadow  on  her  conscience 
with  regard  to  him,  she  might  thereafter  dis- 
perse it. 

1  told  her  so,  on  my  return,  and  she  smiled 
and  said  she  had  drawn  such  an  inference  long 
ago,  from  a  general  observation  of  mankind. 
But,  whether  other  women  have  more  than  one 
true  love,  or  other  men  can  choose  and  choose 
again,  it  is  a  grave  and  certain  truth  that  Lil- 
lian and  I  have  never  even  fancied  she  but  one 
man,  I  but  one  woman. 


THE  END, 


SYBIL  CAMPBELL; 

OB, 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Campbell's  isle. 

"  The  island  lies  nine  leagues  away 
Along  its  solitary  shore 
Of  craggy  rock  and  sandy  bay 
No  sound  but  ocean's  roar, 
8ave  where  the  bold,  wild  sea-bird  makes  her  home, 
Her  shrill  cry  coming  through  the  sparkling  foam." 

— R.  H.  Dana. 

About  six  miles  from  the  mainland  of 

M  ,  with  its  rock-bound  coast  washed  by 

thft  waters  of  the  broad  Atlantic,  was  an  islet, 
known  in  the  days  of  which  I  write  as  Camp- 
bell's  Isle. 

The  island  was  small — about  two  miles  in 
length  and  the  same  in  breath,  but  fertile  and 
luxurious.  The  dense  primeval  forest,  which 
as  yet  the  destroying  axe  had  soarcely  touch- 
ed, reared  itself  high  and  dark  in  the  north- 
ern part  of  the  island.  A  doep,  unbroken 
silence  ever  reigned  here,  save  when  some 
gay  party  from  the  opposite  coast  visited  the 
island  to  fish  or  shoot  partridges.  Some- 
times, during  the  summer,  pleasure-parties 
were  held  here,  but  in  the  winter,  all  was 
silent  and  dreary  on  the  lonely,  isolated  little 
spot. 

This  island  had  been,  from  time  immemo- 
rial, in  the  possession  of  a  family  named 
Campbell,  handed  down  from  father  to  son. 
the  people  of  the  surrounding  country  had 
learned  to  look  upon  them  as  the  rightful 
lords  of  the  soil,  "  to  the  manor  born."  The 
means  by  which  it  had  first  como  into  their 
possession  were  seldom  thought  of,  or  if 
thought  of,  only  added  to  their  reputation  as 
a  bold  and  daring  race.  The  legend  ran, 
that  long  before  Calvert  came  over,  a  certain 
Sir  Guy  Campbell,  a  celebrated  freebooter 
and  scion  of  the  noble  Scottish  clan  of  that 
name,  who  for  some  reckless  crime  had  been 
outlawed  and  banished,  and  in  revenge  had 


hoisted  the  black  flag  and  become  a  rover  on 
the  high  seas,  had,  in  his  wanderings,  discov- 
ered this  solitary  island,  which  he  made  the 
place  of  his  rendezvous.  Here,  with  hia 
band  of  dare-devils — all  outlaws  like  himself 
— he  held  many  a  jolly  carousal  that  made 
the  old  woods  ring.  In  one  of  his  adventures 
he  had  taken  captive  a  young  Spanish  girl, 
whose  wondrous  beauty  at  once  conquered  a 
heart  all  unused  to  the  tender  passion.  He 
bore  off  his  prize  in  triumph,  and  without 
asking  her  consent,  made  her  his  wife  at  the 
first  port  he  touched.  Soon,  however,  tiring 
of  her  company  on  shipboard,  he  brought  her 
to  his  island  home,  and  there  left  her  to  oc- 
cupy his  castle,  while  he  sailed  merrily  away. 
One  year  afterward,  Sir  Guy  the  Fearless, 
as  he  was  oalled,  was  conquered  by  an  Eng- 
lish sloop-of-war ;  and  true  to  his  daring  char- 
acter, he  blew  up  his  vessel,  and,  together 
with  his  crew  and  captors,  perished  in  the 
explosion. 

His  son  and  successor,  Gasper,  born  on  the 
isle,  grew  up  tall,  bold,  and  handsome,  with 
all  his  father's  daring  and  undaunted  courage, 
and  his  mother's  beauty,  and  torrid,  passion- 
ate nature.  He,  in  the  course  of  time,  took 
to  himself  a  wife  of  the  daughters  of  tho 
mainland  ;  and,  after  a  short,  stormy  life, 
passed  away  in  his  turn,  to  render  an  account 
of  his  works,  leaving  to  his  eldest  son,  Hugh, 
the  bold  spirit  of  his  forefathers,  the  posses- 
sion of  Campbell's  Isle,  and  the  family  man- 
sion known  as  Campbell's  Lodge. 

And  so,  from  one  generation  to  another, 
the  Campbells  ruled  as  lords  of  the  isle,  and 
became,  in  after  years,  aB  noted  for  their  pov- 
erty as  their  pride.  A  reckless,  improvi- 
dent race  they  were,  caring  only  for  to-day, 
and  letting  to-morrow  care  for  itself;  quick 
and  fierce  to  resent  injury  or  insult,  and  im- 
placable as  death  or  doom  in  their  hate. 


114 


SYBIL  CAMPBELL  ;  OR,  THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


Woe  to  the  man  who  would  dare  point  in 
scorn  at  one  of  their  name !  Like  a  sleuth- 
hound  they  would  dog  his  steps  night  and 
day,  and  rest  not  until  their  vengeance  was 
Bated.  Fierce  alike  in  love  and  hatred,  the 
Campbells  of  the  Isle  were  known  and  dread- 
ed for  miles  around.  From  sire  to  son  the 
fiery  blood  of  Sir  Guy  the  Fearless  passed 
unadulterated,  and  throbbed  in  the  veins  of 
Mark  Campbell,  the  late  master  of  the  lodge, 
in  a  darker,  fiercer  stream  than  in  any  that 
had  gone  before.  A  heavy-browed,  stern- 
hearted  man  he  was,  of  whoso  dark  deeds 
wild  rumors  went  whispering  about,  for  no 
one  dared  breathe  them  aloud,  lest  they 
should  reach  his  vindictive  ears,  and  rouse 
the  slumbering  tiger  in  his  breast.  At  his 
death,  which  took  place  some  two  or  three 
years  previous  to  the  opening  of  our  story, 
his  son  Guy,  a  true  descendant  of  his  illustri- 
ous namesake,  became  the  lord  and  master  of 
the  isle,  and  the  last  of  the  Campbells. 
Young  Guy  showed  no  disposition  to  pass 
his  days  in  the  spot  where  he  was  born.  Af- 
ter the  death  of  his  father,  Guy  resolved  to 
visit  foreign  lands,  and  leave  Campbell's 
Lodge  to  the  care  of  an  old  black  servant, 
Aunt  Moll,  and  her  son  Lem,  both  of  whom 
had  passed  their  lives  in  the  service  of  the 
family,  a*jd  considered  that  in  some  sort  the 
honor  of  the  house  lay  in  their  hands.  Vague 
rumors  were  current  that  the  old  house  was 
haunted.  Fishermen  out,  casting  their  nets, 
.avowed,  that  at  midnight,  blue,  unearthly 
Jights  flashed  from  the  upper  chambers — 
-<where  it  was  known  Aunt  Moll  never  went — ■ 
;..&nd  wild,  piercing  shrieks,  that  chilled  the 
-Wood  with  horror,  echoed  on  the  still  nightr 
-.air.  The  superstitious  whisperod  that  Black 
-3Iark  had  been  sent  back  by  his  master,  the 
lEvil  One,  to  atone  for  his  wicked  deeds  done 
dnrthe  flesh,  and  that  his  restless  spirit  would 
«ver  haunt  the  old  lodge,  the  scene,  it  was 
<bdliec*ed,  of  many  an  appalling  crime.  Be 
rthat  <&s  it  may,  the  old  house  was  desertod, 
»save  >fey  Aunt  Moll  and  her  hopeful  son  ; 
<md  yeung  Guy,  taking  with  him  his  only 
sister,  f€pont  his  time  in  cruising  about  in  a 
^schooner  he  owned,  and — it  was  said,  among 
.the  rest  ef  the  rumors — in  cheating  the  revenue. 

Besides  the  lodge,  or  Campbell's  Castle,  as 
it  was-gometimes  called,  the  island  contained 
hut  one  <«fcher  habitation,  occupied  by  a  wi- 
-dow,  a  distant  connection  of  the  Campbells, 
who,  after  the  death  of  her  husband,  had 
.come  ;hopetto  reside.  The  cottage  was  situ- 
ated on  the  tsummit  of  a  gentle  elevation  that 
-commanded  .an  extensive  view  of  the  island ; 
for  Mrs.  To-B&linson — or  Mrs.  Tom,  as  she  was 
j&lways  <j^lle<3: — liked  a  wide  prospect  at  least, 
if  jnathin g.-ell&e  could  be  obtained  on  the  lone- 
ly island. 

Xhe  JELeat  inugal,  the  most  industrious  of 


housewives  was  Mrs.  Tom.  No  crime  in  her 
eyes  equaled  that  of  thriftlessness,  and  all 
sins  could  be  pardoned  but  that  of  lazi- 
ness. Unfortunately  for  her  peace  of  mind, 
she  was  afflicted  with  an  orphan  nephew,  the 
laziest  of  mortals,  whose  shortcomings  kept 
the  bustling  old  lady  in  a  fever  from  morn- 
ing till  night.  A  wild  young  sister  of  Mrs. 
Tom's  had  run  away  with  a  Dutch  fiddler, 
and  dying  a  few  years  after,  was  soon  followed 
to  the  grave  by  her  husband,  who  drank  more 
than  was  good  for  him  one  night,  and  was 
found  dead  in  the  morning.  Master  Carl 
Henley  was  accordingly  adopted  by  his  only 
living  relative,  and,  as  that  good  lady  de- 
clared, had  been  "  the  death  of  her"  every 
day  since. 

A  young  girl  of  sixteen,  known  only  as 
"  Christie,"  was  the  only  other  member  ol 
Mrs.  Tom's  family.  Who  this  girl  was,  where 
6he  had  come  from,  and  what  was  her  family 
name,  was  a  mystery ;  and  Mrs.  Tom,  when 
questioned  on  the  subject,  only  shut  her  lips 
and  shook  her  head  mysteriously,  and  spoke 
never  a  word.  Although  6he  called  the  old 
lady  aunt,  it  was  generally  believed  that  she 
was  no  relation  ;  but  as  Christie  was  a  favor- 
ite with  all  who  visited  the  island,  the  mys- 
tery concerning  her,  though  it  piqued  the  cu- 
riosity of  the  curious,  made  them  like  her 
none  t  he  less.  A  big  Newfoundland  dog  and 
a  disagreeable  chattering  parrot  completed 
the  widow's  household. 

Mrs.  Tom's  business  was  flourishing.  She 
made  a  regular  visit  each  weelt  to  the  main- 
land, where  she  disposed  of  fish,  nuts,  and 
berries,  in  which  the  island  abounded,  and  in 
return  brought  back  groceries  and  such  other 
things  as  she  needed.  Besides  that,  she  kept 
a  sort  of  tavern  and  place  of  refreshment  for 
the  sailors  and  fishermen,  who  sometimes 
stopped  for  a  day  or  two  in  the  island ;  and 
for  many  a  mile,  both  by  land  and  sea,  was 
known  the  fame  of  Mrs.  Tom. 

Such  was  Campbell's  Isle,  and  such  were 
its  owners  and  occupants.  For  many  years 
now  it  had  been  quiet  and  stagnant  enough, 
until  the  development  of  sundry  startling 
events  that  for  long  afterward  were  remem- 
bered in  the  country  around,  and  electrified 
for  a  time  the  whole  community. 


CHAPTER  n. 

THE    MAGIC  MIRROR. 

"  I  turned  my  eyes,  and  as  I  turned  surveyed 
An  awful  vision." 

The  sun  was  sinking  in  the  far  west  as  the 
little  schooner  Evening  Star  went  dancing 
over  the  bright  waves  toward  Campbell's 
Isle.  Captain  Guy  Campbell  stood  leaning 
negligently  over  the  taffrail,  solacing  himself 
with  a  cigar,  and  conversing  at  intervals  with 


SYBIL  CAMPBELL ;  OR,  THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


115 


a  slight,  somewhat  haughty-looking  young 
man,  who  stood  beside  him,  watching  the 
waves  flashing,  as  they  sped  along.  No  two 
could  be  more  opposite,  as  far  as  looks  went, 
than  those  two,  yet  both  were  handsome  and 
about  the  same  age. 

Like  all  of  his  race,  young  Campbell  was 
very  tall,  and  dark  as  a  Spaniard.  His  short, 
black,  curling  hair  shadowed  a  forehead  high, 
bold,  and  commanding.  Dark,  keen,  proud 
eyes  flashed  from  beneath  jetty  eyebrows,  and 
the  firm,  resolute  mouth  gave  to*his  dark  face 
a  look  almost  fierce.  His  figure  was  exqui- 
sitely proportioned,  and  there  was  a  certain 
bold  frankness,  mingled  with  a  reckless  devil- 
may-care  expression  in  his  fine  face,  that 
atoned  for  his  swarthy  complexion  and  stern 
brows. 

His  companion  was  a  tall,  elegant  young 
man,  with  an  air  of  proud  superiority  about 
him,  as  though  he  were  "somebody."  and 
knew  it.  His  complexion  was  fair  as  a  lady's, 
and  would  have  been  effeminate  but  for  the 
dark,  bold  eyes,  and  his  dashing  air,  gen- 
erally.    There  was  something  particularly 
winning  in  his  handsome   face,  especially 
when   he    smiled,  that   lit  up  his  whole 
I  countenance  with  new  beauty.    Yet,  with  all, 
|  there  was  a  certain  faithless  expression  about 
!  the  finely -formed  mouth,  that  would  have  led 
a  close  observer  to  hesitate  before  trusting 
him  too  far.    This,  reader,  was  Mr.  Willard 
!  Drummond,  a  young   half-American  half- 
!  Parisian,  and  heir  to  one  of  the  finest  estates 
in  the  Old  Dominion.    The  last  five  years  he 
i  had  passed  in  Paris,  and  when  he  was  think- 
'  ing  of  returning  home,  he  had  encountered 
j  Captain  Campbell  and  his  sister.    Fond  of 
!  luxury  and  ease  as  the  young  patrician  was, 
[  he  gave  up,  all  after  that,  for  the  attraction 
I  he  discovered  on  board  the  schooner  Even- 
j  ing  Star.     And  Captain  Campbell,  pleased 
with  his  new  friend,  invited  him  to  cross  the 
!  oc,ean  with  him,  and  spend  a  few  weeks  with 
him  in  his  ancestral  home,  whither  he  was 
i  obliged  to  stop  whilst  some  repairs  were  be- 
«  ing  made  in  his  vessel — which  invitation,  Wil- 
J  lard  Drummond,  nothing  loth,  accepted. 

"  Well,  Campbell,  how  is  that  patient  of 
\  yours,  this  evening  ?"  inquired  Drummond, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Don't  know  !"  replied  Captain  Campbell, 
1  carelessly  ;  "  I  haven't  seen  him  since  morn- 
ing.   Sybil  is  with  him  now." 

"  By  the  way,  where  did  you  pick  him 
up  ?  He  was  not  one  of  your  crew,  I  under- 
stand." 

"  No  ;  I  met  him  in  Liverpool.  He  came 
to  me  one  day,  and  asked  me  to  take  him 
home.  I  replied  that  I  had  no  accommoda- 
tions, and  would  much  rather  not  be  troubled 
with  passengers.  However,  he  pleaded  so 
hard  for  me  to  accommodate  him,  and  looked 


I  bo  like  something  from  the  other  world  all 
I  the  time,  that  I  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse 
:  the  poor  fellow.  Before  we  had  been  three 
I  days  out  at  sea  he  was  taken  ill,  and  has  been 
!  raving  and  shrieking  ever  since,  as  you 
I  know  I" 

"  What  do  you  suppose  is  the  matter  with 
him  ?" 

I  "  Well,  I  haven't  much  experience  as  nurse 
\  myself,  but  I  think  it's  brain  fever  or  som-e- 
|  thing  of  that  kind  ;  Sybil,  however,  thinks  that 
bitter  remorse  for  something  he  has  done  is 
|  preying  on  his  mind  ,  and  girls  always  know 
best  in  these  cases." 

"  He  is,  if  I  may  judge  by  his  looks,  of 
humble  station,  rather !"  said  Mr.  Drummond, 
in  an  indifferent  tone. 

"  Yes  ;  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  that, 
though  he  appears  to  have  plenty  of  mo- 
ney !" 

"  Has  he  given  his  name?" 

"  Yes  ;  Richard  Grove." 

"  Hum  !  Well,  it  would  be  unpleasant  to 
have  him  die  on  board,  of  course !"  said 
Drummond. 

"Oh,  I  think  he'll  live  to  reach  our  des- 
tination ;  he  does  not  appear  to  be  sinking 
very  fast." 

"  We  must  now  be  quite  near  this  island- 
home  of  yours,  Captain  Campbell ;  I  grow 
impatient"  to  see  it!" 

"  We  shall  reach  it  about  moonrke  to- 
night, if  the  wind  holds  as  it  is  now." 

"And  what,  may  I  ask,  do  you  intend  do- 
ing with  this — this  Richard  Grove,  when  you 
get  there  ?  Will  you  take  him  into  your  Ro- 
binson Crusoe  Castle,  and  nurse  him  until  he 
get6  well,  as  that  enterprising  canoe-builder 
did  Friday's  father  ?" 

"  No,  I  "think  not.  There  is  an  old  lady  on 
the  island,  who  is  never  so  happy  as  when 
she  has  some  one  to  nurse.  I  think  we'll  con- 
sign him  to  her." 

"Then  there  is  another  habitation  on  the 
island  beside  yours  ?"  said  Drummond.  look- 
ing up  with  more  interest  than  he  had  yet 
manifested. 

"  Yes,  old  Mrs.  Tom,  a  distant  connection 
of  our  family,  I  believe.  And,  by  the  way, 
Drummond,  there  is  a  pretty  little  girl  in  the 
case.  I  suppose  that  will  interest  you  more 
than  the  old  woman  !" 

"  Pretty  girls  are  an  old  story  by  this 
time  !"  said  Drummond,  with  a  yawn. 

"  Yes,  with  such  a  renowned  lady-killer  as 
you,  no  doubt." 

"I  never  did  see  but  one  girl  in  the  world 
worth  the  trouble  of  loving!"  said  Drum- 
mond, looking  thoughtfully  in  the  water. 

"Ah!  what  a  paragon  she  must  have  been. 
May  I  ask  what  quarter  of  the  globe  has  the 
honor  of  containing  so  peerless  a  beauty?" 

"  I  never  said  she  was  a  beautv,  men  ami. 


116 


SYBIL  CAMPBELL;  OR,  THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


But  never  mind  that.  "When  do  you  expeet 
to  be  ready  for  sea  again  ?" 

"  As  soon  as  possible — in  a  few  weeks,  per- 
haps—for I  fear  that  we'll  all  soon  get  tired 
of  the  loneliness  of  the  place." 

"  You  ought  to  be  pretty  well  accustomed 
to  its  loneliness  by  this  time." 

"  Not  I,  faith !  It's  now  three  years  since 
I  have  been  there  !" 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  I  thought  you  Campbells 
were  too  much  attached  to  your  ancestral 
home  to  desert  it  so  long  as  that." 

"  Well,  it's  a  dreary  place,  and  I  have  such 
an  attachment  for  a  wild,  exciting  life,  that  I 
positively  could  not  endure  it.  I  should  die 
of  stagnation.  As  for  Sybil,  my  wild,  impul- 
sive sister,  she  would  now  as  soon  think  of 
entering  a  convent  as  passing  her  life  there." 

"  Yet  you  said  it  was  partly  by  her  re- 
quest you  were  going  there  now  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  expressed  a  wish  to  show  you 
the  place."  A  slight  flush  of  pleasure  colored 
the  clear  face  of  Drummond.  "  I  don't  know 
what's  got  into  Sybil  lately !"  continued  her 
brother.  "  I  never  saw  a  girl  so  changed. 
She  used  to  be  the  craziest  leap-over-the- 
moon  mad-cap  that  ever  existed  ;  now  she  is 
growing  as  tame  as — as  little  Christie." 

Drmnmond's  fine  eyes  were  fixed  keenly 
on  the  frank  open  face  of  Captain  Campbell ; 
but  nothing  was  to  be  read  there  more  than 
his  words  contained.  With  a  peculiar  smile 
he  turned  away,  and  said,  carelessly : 

"  And  who  is  this  little  Christie,  to  whom 
you  refer  ?" 

"  She's  the  protege  of  the  old  lady  on  the 
island — fair  as  the  dream  of  an  opium-eater, 
enchanting  as  a  houri,  and  with  the  voice  of 
an  angel !" 

"  Whew !  the  bold  Captain  Campbell,  the 
daring  descendant  of  old  Guy  the  Fearless, 
has  lost  his  heart  at  last !"  laughed  Willard 
Drummond. 

"Not  I!"  answered  Guy,  carelessly.  "I 
never  yet  saw  the  woman  who  could  touch 
my  heart,  and,  please  Heaven,  never  will!" 

"Well,  here's  a  wonder — a  young  man  of 
three-and-twenty,  and  never  in  love !  Do 
you  expect  me  to  believe  such  a  fable,  my 
good  friend  ?" 

"  Believe  or  not,  as  you  will,  it  is  neverthe- 
less true !" 

"  Whnt !  do  you  mean  to  say  you  have 
never  felt  a  touch  of  the  grande  passion — the 
slightest  symptom  of  that  infectious  disor- 
der ?" 

"  Pooh  !  boyish  fancies  go  for  nothing.  I 
have  now  and  then  felt  a  queer  sensation 
about  the  region  of  my  heart  at  sight  of  sun- 
dry faces  at  different  times  ;  but  as  for  being 
fatally  and  incorrigibly  in  love — never,  on  my 
honor !" 

"  Weil,  before  you  reach  the  age  of  thirty, 


you'll  have  a  different  story  to  tell,  or  I'm 
mistaken  I" 

"  No  ;  there  is  no  danger,  I  fancy,  unless, 
indeed,"  he  added,  fixing  his  eyes  quizzically 
on  Drummond's  handsome  face,  "  I  should 
happen  to  meet  this  little  enchantress  you 
spoke  of  a  while  ago." 

A  cloud  passed  over  the  brow  of  his  com- 
panion ;  but  it  cleared  away  in  a  moment,  as 
a  quick,  light  footstep  was  heard  approach- 
ing, and  the  next  instant  Sybil  Campbell,  the 
haughty  daughter  of  a  haughty  race,  stood 
bright,  dazzling,  and  smiling  before  them. 

No  one  ever  looked  once  in  the  face  of  Sy- 
bil Campbell  without  turning  to  gaze  again, 
Peerlessly  beautiful  as  she  was,  it  was  not 
her  beauty  that  would  startle  you,  but  the 
look  of  wild  power,  of  intense  daring,  of  fierce 
passions,  of  unyielding  energy,  of  a  will  pow- 
erful for  love  or  hate,  of  a  nature  loving,  pas- 
sionate, fiery,  impulsive,  and  daring,  yet  gen- 
tle, winning,  and  soft. 

She  might  have  been  seventeen  years  of 
age — certainly  not  more.  In  stature  she  was 
tall,  and  with  a  form  regally  beautiful,  splen- 
didly developed,  with  a  haughty  grace  pecu- 
liarly her  own.  Her  face  was  perfectly  oval, 
her  complexion,  naturally  olive,  had  been 
tanned  by  sun  and  wind  to  a  rich,  clear,  gip- 
syish  darkness.  Her  hair,  that  hung  in  a  pro- 
fusion of  long  curls,  was  of  jetty  blackness, 
save  where  the  sun  fell  on  it,  bringing  out  red 
rings  of  fire.  Her  large  Syrian  eyes,  full  of 
passion  and  power,  were  of  the  most  intense 
blackness,  now  flashing  with  sparks  of  light, 
and  anon  swimming  in  liquid  tenderness. 
Her  high,  bold  brow  might  have  become  a 
crown — certainly  it  was  regal  in  its  pride  and 
scorn.  Her  mouth,  which  was  the  only  vo- 
luptuous feature  in  her  face,  was  small,  with 
full,  ripe,  red  lips,  rivaling  in  bloom  the 
deep  crimson  of  her  dark  cheeks. 

Her  dress  was  like  herself — odd  and  pictur- 
esque, consisting  of  a  short  skirt  of  black  silk, 
a  bodice  of  crimson  velvet,  with  gilt  buttons. 
She  held  in  one  hand  a  black  velvet  hat,  with 
a  long,  sweeping  plume,  swinging  it  gayly  by 
the  strings,  as  she  came  toward  them.  She 
was  a  strange,  wild-looking  creature,  altogeth- 
er ;  yet  what  would  first  strike  an  observer 
was  her  queenly  air  of  pride,  her  lofty  hauteur, 
her  almost  unendurable  arrogance.  For  her 
unbending  pride,  as  well  as  her  surprising 
beauty,  the  haughty  little  lady  had  obtained 
even  in  childhood  the  title  of  "  Queen  of  the 
Isle."  And  queenly  she  looked,  with  her  no- 
ble brow,  her  flashing,  glorious  eyes,  her 
dainty,  curving  lips,  her  graceful,  statuesque 
form — in  every  sense  of  the  word,  "a  queen 
of  noble  Nature's  crowning." 

And  Willard  Drummond,  passionate  admir- 
er of  beauty  as  he  was,  what  thought  he  of 
this  dazzling  creature  ?    He  leant  negligent- 


SYBIL  CAMPBELL";  OR,  THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


117 


ly  still  against  the  taffrail,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  her  sparkling,  snnb right  face,  noting  every 
look  and  gesture  as  one  might  gaze  on  some 
strange,  beautiful  mind,  half  in  fear,  half  in 
love,  but  wholly  in  admiration.  Yes,  he  lov- 
ed her,  or  thought  he  did ;  and  gazing  with 
him  on  the  moonlit  waves,  when  the  solemn 
stars  shone  serenely  above  him,  he  had  told 
her  so,  and  she  had  believed  him.    And  she, 


Sybil  stopped  short ;  even  in  jest  sne  could 
not  pronounce  the  word. 

"  Murdered  by  ?"  said  "Willard,  quietly  fin- 
ishing the  sentence  for  her.  "  No,  he  told 
me  nothing.    I  saw  it  all." 

"  Saw  it !    How?    I  do  not  understand." 
"  Oh,  the  story  is  hardly  worth  relating, 
and  ought  not  to  be  told  in  the  presence  of 
such  a  skeptic  as  Captain  Guy  Campbell," 


wild,  untutored  child  of  Nature,  who  can  tell  said  Drummond,  running  his  fingers  lightly 
the  deep  devotion,  the  intense  passion,  the  J  through  his  dark,  glossy  locks. 


fiery,  all-absorbing  love  for  him  that  filled 
her  impulsive,  young  heart  ? 

"  Love  was  to  her  impassioned  eoal 
Not  a3  with  others  a  mere  part 
Of  her  existence  ;  but  the  whole — 
The  very  life-breath  of  her  heart." 

As  she  advanced,  Willard  Drummond  start- 
ed up,  saying,  gayly  : 

"  Welcome  back,  Miss  Sybil.  I  thought 
the  sunlight  had  deserted  us  altogether  ;  but 
you  have  brought  it  back  in  your  eyes." 

M  How's  your  patient,  Sybil  ?"  said  Captain 
Campbell — who,  not  being  in  love,  found  Mr. 
Drummond's  high-flown  compliments  very 
tiresome  sometimes. 

"  Much  worse,  I  am  afraid, "  she  answered, 
in  a  peculiarly  musical  voice.  "  I  do  not 
think  he  will  live  to  see  the  morrow's  sun. 
His  ravings  are  frightful  to  hear — some  terri- 
ble crime  seems  to  be  weighing  him  down  as 
much  as  disease." 

"After  all,  the  human  soul  is  an  awful  pos- 
session for  a  guilty  man."  said  Captain  Camp- 
bell, thoughtfully.  "  Things  can  be  smooth- 
ed over  during  life,  but  when  one  comes  to 
die—" 

u  They  feel  what  retributive  justice  is,  I 


Heaven  forbid  I  should  wait  to  be  inflict- 
ed by  it!"  said  Captain  Campbell,  starting 
up.  "  I  will  relieve  you  of  my  presence,  and 
allow  you  to  entertain  my  superstitious  sister 
here  with  your  awful  destiny,  of  which  she 
will  doubtless  believe  every  word." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  believe  anything  bo 
dreadful,"  said  Sybil,  gravely;  "but  I  do 
think  there  are  some  gifted  ones  to  whom  the 
future  ha3  been  revealed.  I  wish  I  could 
meet  them,  and  find  out  what  it  has  in  store 
for  me." 

"  Let  me  bo  your  prophet,"  said  Drum- 
mond, softly.  "  Beautiful  Sybil,  there  can  bo 
nothing  but  bliss  for  an  angel  like  you." 

Her  radiant  face  flushed  with  pride,  love, 
and  triumph  at  his  words. 

"Do  you  believe  in  omens?"  she  said, 
laughingly.  "  See  how  brightly  and  beauti- 
fully yonder  moon  is  rising !  Now,  if  it 
reaches  the  arch  of  heaven  unclouded,  I  shall 
believe  your  prediction." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  a  dense  cloud  pasped 
athwart  the  sky,  and  the  moon  was  obscured  in 
darkness. 

The  dark,  bright  face  of  Sybil  paled  at  the 
dread  omen.    Involuntarily  her  eves  sought 


suppose,"  said  Drummond,  in  his  customary  |  Drummond's,  who  also  had  been  gazing  at  the 
careless  tone  ;  "  and  apropos  of  that,  somebody  sky. 


will  suffer  terrible  remorse  after  I  die.  I  am 
to  be  murdered,  if  there  is  any  truth  in  for- 
tone-telling." 

He  spoke  lightly,  with  a  half  smile  ;  but 
Sybil's  face  paled  involuntarily,  as  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Murdered,  did  you  say  ?  Who  could  have 
predicted  anything  so  dreadful  ?" 

"  An  old  astrologer,  or  enchanter,  or  wizard 
of  some  kind  in  Germany  when  I  was  there. 
The  affair  seems  so  improbable,  so  utterly  ab- 
surd, in  short,  that  I  never  like  to  allude  to 
it." 

"  You  are  not  fool  enough  to  believe  such 
nonsense,  I  hope,"  said  Captain  Campbell. 

"  I  don't  know  as  it  is  nonsense.  1  There 
are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are 
dreamed  of  in  philosophy,'  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  was  sure  you  would  quote  that — 
every  one  does  when  they  advance  some  ab- 
surd" doctrine  ;  but  it's  all  the  greatest  stuff, 
nevertheless." 

"  But  did  he  tell  you  who  you  were  to  be — " 


Heaven  avert  the  omen  !"  she  cried,  with 
a  shudder.  "  O  Willard  !  the  unclouded  moon 
grew  dark  even  while  I  spoke." 

"And  now  the  cloud  is  past,  and  it  6ails  on 
brighter  than  ever,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 
"  See,  fairest  Sybil,  all  is  calm  and  peaceful 
once  more.  My  prediction  will  be  verified, 
after  all." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  looked  so  in- 
tensely relieved  that  he  laughed.  Sybil  blush- 
ed vividly,  as  she  said  : 

"  I  know  you  must  think  me  weak  and  child- 
ish ;  but  I  am  superstitious  by  nature. 
Dreams,  inspirations,  and  presentiments,  that 
no  one  else  thinks  of,  are  all  vivid  realities  to 
me.  But  you  promised  to  tell  me  the  German 
wizard's  prediction  concerning  your  future : 
so,  pray,  go  on." 

"  Well,  let  me  see,"  said  Willard  Drum 
mond,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand.  "  It  is 
now  three  years  ago  that  a  celebrated  Egyp- 
tian fortune-teller  visited  the  town  in  Ger- 
many where  I  resided.    His  fame  soon  spread 


118 


SYBIL  CAMPBELL ,  OR,  THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 


far  and  wide,  and  crowds  of  the  credulous 
came  from  every  part  to  visit  him.  He  could 
not  speak  a  word  of  any  language  but  his  own  ; 
but  he  had  an  interpreter  who  did  all  the  talk- 
ing necessary,  which  was  A7ery  little. 

"  1  was  then  at  a  celebrated  University ;  and 
with  two  or  three  of  my  fellow-students,  re- 
Bolved,  one  day,  to  visit  the  wizard.  Arrived 
at  his  house,  we  were  shown  into  a  large  room, 
and  called  up  one  by  one  into  the  presence  of 
the  Egyptian. 

"  Our  object  in  going  was  more  for  sport 
than  anything  else  ;  but  when  we  saw  the  first 
who  was  called — a  wild,  reckless,  young  fel-t 
low,  who  feared  nothing  earthly — return  pale 
and  serious,  our  mirth  was  at  an  end.  One 
by  one  the  others  were  called,  and  all  came 
back  grave  and  thoughtful.  By  some  chance, 
I  was  the  last. 

"I  am  not  like  yon,  bright  Sybil,  naturally 
superstitious ;  but  I  confess,  when  the  inter- 
preter ushered  me  into  the  presence  of  this 
wizard,  I  felt  a  sort  of  chilly  awe  creeping  over 
me.  He  was  the  most  singular-looking  being 
I  ever  beheld.  His  face  was  exactly  like  that 
of  one  who  has  been  for  some  days  dead — a 
sort  of  dark-greenish  white,  with  pale-blue 
lips,  and  sharp  Asiatic  features.  His  eyes, 
black  and  piercingly  sharp,  loooked  forth  from 
two  deep  caverns  of  sockets,  and  seemed  the 
only  living  feature  in  his  ghastly  face.  There 
were  caldrons,  and  lizards,  and  cross-bones, 
and  tame  serpents,  and  curious  devices  carv- 
ed on  the  walls,  ceiling,  and  floor,  like  all  oth- 
er such  places,  and  the  white,  grinning  skulls 
that  were  scattered  about  formed  a  hideously- 
revolting  sight  in  that  darkened  room. 

"  The  Egyptian  stood  *  before  a  smoking 
caldron  ;  and,  drawn  up  to  his  full  height,  his 
6ize  appeared  almost  colossal.  His  dress  was 
a  long,  black  robe,  all  woven  over  with  scor- 
pions, and  snakes,  and  other  equally-pleasing 
objects,  that  seemed  starting  out  dazzlingly 
white  from  this  dark  background.  Altogeth- 
er, the  room  looked  so  like  a  charnel-house, 
and  the  wizard  so  like  a  supernatural  being, 
that  I  am  not  ashamed  to  own  I  felt  myself 
growing  nervous  as  I  looked  around. 

"  The  interpreter,  who  stood  behind,  open- 
ed the  scene  by  asking  me  my  name,  age, 
birthplace,  and  divers  other  questions  of  a 
like  nature,  which  he  wrote  down  in  some  sort 
of  hieroglyphics,  and  handed  to  the  Egyptian. 
Then  bidding  me  advance  and  keep  my  eyes 
fixed  on  the  caldron,  and  not  speak  a  word, 
the  interpreter'  left  the  room. 

"My  heart  beat  faster  than  was  its  wont  as 
I  approached  this  strange  being,  and  found 
myself  completely  alone  with  him  in  this 
ghostly,  weird  place.  He  took  a  handful  of 
what  I  imagined  to  be  incense  of  some  kind, 
and  threw  it  on  the  red,  living  coals,  mutter- 
ing some  strange  sounds  in  an  unknown  tongue 


as  he  did  so.  Presently  a  cloud  of  smoke 
arose,  dense,  black,  and  suffocating,  filling 
the  whole  room  with  the  gloom  of  Tartarus. 
Slowly,  as  if  endowed  with  instinct,  it  lifted 
itself  up  and  spread  out  before  me.  And 
looking  up,  I  beheld — " 

Willard  Drummond  paused,  as  if  irresolute 
whether  to  reveal  the  rest  or  not ;  but  Sybil 
grasped  his  arm,  and  in  a  voice  that  was  fairly 
hoarse  with  intense  excitement,  said  : 

"  Go  on." 

"  I  saw,"  he  continued,  looking  beyond  her, 
as  if  describing  something  then  passing  be- 
fore him,  "  the  interior  of  a  church  thronged 
with  people.  Flowers  were  6trewn  along  the 
aisles,  and  I  seemed  to  hear  faintly  the  grand 
cadences  of  a  triumphal  hymn.  A  clergy- 
man, book  in  hand,  stood  before  a  bridal  pair 
performing  the  marriage  ceremony.  The 
features  of  the  man  of  God  are  indelibly  im- 
pressed on  my  memory,  but  the  two  who 
stood  before  him  had  their  backs  toward  me. 
For  about  five  seconds  they  remained  thus  sta- 
tionary, then  it  began  to  grow  more  and  more 
indistinct :  the  forms  grew  shadowy  and  un- 
defined, and  began  to  disappear.  Just  be- 
fore they  vanished  altogether,  the  faces  of 
the  wedded  pair  turned  for  an  instant  toward 
me  ;  and  in  the  bridegroom,  Sybil,  I  beheld 
myself.  The  vapor  lifted  and  lifted,  until  all 
was  cone,  and  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  tho 
black  walls  of  the  room,  and  the  glowing,  fiery 
coals  in  the  caldron. 

"  Again  the  Egyptian  threw  the  incense  on 
the  fire,  and  again  mumbled  his  unintelligible 
jargon.  Again  the  thick  black  smoke  arose, 
filling  the  room  ;  and  again  became  station- 
ary, forming  a  shadowy  panorama  before  me. 
Tiiis  time  I  saw  a  prison  cell — dark,  dismal, 
and  noisome.  A  rough  straw-pallet  stood  on 
one  side  ;  and  on  the  other,  a  pitcher  of  wa- 
ter and  a  loaf — orthodox  prison-fare  from  time 
immemorial.  On  the  ground,  chained  as  it 
were  to  the  wall,  groveled  a  woman,  in  shin- 
ing bridal  robes,  her  long  midnight  tresses 
trailing  on  the  foul  floor.  No  words  can  de- 
scribe to  you  the  utter  despair  and  mortal  I 
anguish  depicted  in  her  crouching  attitude. 
I  stood  spell-hound  to  the  spot,  unable  tojj 
move,  in  breathless  interest.  Then  the  scene  j 
began  to  fade  away  ;  the  prostrate  figure 
lifted'  its  head,  and  I  beheld  the  face  of  herj 
whom,  a  moment  before,  seemed  to  stand] 
beside  me  at  the  altar.  But  no  words  of  mine! 
can  describe  to  you  the  mortal  woe,  the  un-J 
utterable  despair  in  that  haggard  but  bcauti( 
ful  face.  Sybil !  Sybil !  it  will  haunt  me  t<  ' 
my  dying  day.  I  put  out  my  hand,  as  if  fcj 
retain  her,  but  in  that  instant  all  disappeared.]! 

Once  more  William  Drummond  paused! 
this  time  he  was  deadly  pale,  and  his  eyq 
were  wild  and  excited.  Sybil  stood  near  hin  1 
her  great  black,  mystic  eyes  dilated,  evwf'i 


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